Candlelight and Darkness
by Dionaea007
Summary: It has been three years since Jon Snow woke on the Wall not recalling a moment from his previous life. Now a few wars later and thousands leagues away, as the Lord of Harrenhal, he calls the Great Council to gather the great lords who survived to finally reunite Westeros and prepare it to fight the Others.
1. The Lord of the Castle

**_AN: Finished with great help of Silirt. Thanks again_**

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The room was bitterly cold despite the fire burning in the hearth. Thick candles burned brightly, surrounded by a motley pile of ancient scrolls and pieces of parchment with messages not a fortnight old. A richly carved table under them was burned on one side, its missing leg replaced by a crudely cut piece of timber. In the adjoining bedchamber, the old lord's great bed stood still whole; the once feathered mattresses long replaced by straw stuffed in rags. _The lord's chambers. As scratched, scarred, and burned as the lord himself,_ Jon Snow had thought more than once.

He had been lord of this cursed castle for the three turns of the moon, and resided here for a third of that time. In truth, he was growing more accustomed to it than to any other place in the world. The ghostly sounds did not disturb him, and the closest he came upon encouraging any specter was while looking at his own reflection. But not many men were similarly inflicted. He could only hope that he would find a suitable castellan among his guests before he needed to return north. None of his own men would serve. They lacked either the ability, or the will to risk Harrenhal's ill repute. And with some, he could not even leave strong walls between them, or he might need to storm the walls upon his return.

The hesitant knocking was not unexpected. "Enter."

His steward came in with a plate of food; a big bowl of onion soup, salted fish, and bread not older than two days. "Your dinner, my lord."

"Leave it here." Jon watched without word as the man struggled to find a place for the plate on his cluttered desk. Finally, he put it on Grand Maester Steffron's absurdly large tome: _The Brave and Curious Travels through the Savage and Strange Lands of the North_.

Their eyes almost met, but Tybolt forcefully avoided his gaze. Very few men felt comfortable in Jon's presence. Some seemed only uncertain on how to approach him. Some, like Tybolt, barely managed to speak to him-frozen by fear, yet the man was as good of a steward as he could come by.

"Has anyone arrived, my lord?" the man managed to ask, looking past Jon's head.

"The Tyrells. Lady Olenna, Lord Willas, thirty-two knights, about two hundred men in arms, a few lesser lords, serving men, and women." _Fools, the night is not safe._ The South still did not understand what this winter meant, but Jon only nodded quietly and kept his rage to himself.

Tybolt swallowed nervously, opened his mouth for a moment, and then swallowed again. Finally the man spoke: "Were there any new reports of wights?"

"Not in the messages I've read so far."

"And of wolves?"

"No," Jon lied.

The man gathered the courage to look at him expectantly, probably waiting for further tidings, but Jon gave him none. "You may leave."

Even after the oak door closed, Jon could hear the quickening footsteps, and Tybolt's breaths that seemed to come more freely once he was outside his lord's chamber.

There was something unnatural about his senses, Jon Snow had come to know. He could not tell if it was because of what happened to him on the Wall, or the great white direwolf who shadowed his steps. He had no comparison. His only memories from _before_ belonged to Ghost. They were full of grief and longing. Once they were five, and he who stood apart. The tame sister had died first while barely more than a pup. Next came the oldest of the brothers. He perished with Robb Stark, not far from here, Jon had been told. The sea took the youngest; the angry black one with fire in his eyes, while Jon's body lay cold in the ice cells. The brother who smelled of Summer was the last to die, even if not to leave. Jon could still hear their whispers sometimes, wolf and boy alike. The little sister though...

She lived and thrived, and she was threatening to rob him of whatever was left of his sanity. When Jon had awoken he had no sense of himself. He and Ghost has been one, and the wolf had remained his most loyal companion, his anchor, the strongest part of his being. Now, three years later, the two fought for control day and night.

Sounds of approaching footsteps interrupted his musings. He knew it was Tybolt returning from the loudness of it, and the way every odd step was just a fraction shorter. Still he waited for the knocking. The first one quick, a long pause and then three quick knocks as always. Jon allowed the man to enter. Tybolt seemed as nervous as ever. "My lord, Lady Olenna Tyrell requests a meeting."

"I will not grant it." Jon had been the one to call the Great Council, and had vowed to himself that no matter the outcome, it would follow his rules. "Send her my greatest apologies, my health is still ailing. Old wounds never heal entirely. I will break my fast with her and Lord Willas on the morrow."

"With the Baratheons and Lannisters?" Tybolt seemed bewildered. Jon wondered if his steward would ever grow tired of it. He had sounded just as bewildered when Jon had invited Massey and Marbrand to the same table.

"Of course. How else?"

"Yes, my lord."

Only when Tybolt was gone did Jon unfold the next letter.

 _My lord,_

 _I searched the books as you required of me but I found no useful information about the Others. Though, by each passing day, more maesters are joining the effort. Fewer and fewer men believe the Others are just a children' tale. Especially after archmaester Merhaut held a speech about length of day. The measurements from all over the kingdom tell the same: the first day of the three hundred-and-third year had been shorter than any day in recorded history. And the days keep growing shorter still. The new Long Night may have very well arrived._

 _The city is holding well. There was no sight of greyscale for more than a moon's turn and some parts burned by Euron Greyjoy and Daenerys Targaryen are being rebuilt. Today, I counted twenty ships anchoring in the main harbor._

 _I am not able to leave the Oldtown at the moment, much less to travel North just yet, but I believe we may meet upon my return to the Watch._

 _With best wishes, Samwell Tarly_

In truth, Jon did not look forward to the reunion. It was frustrating to be a man with a memory no longer than three years, and meeting men who had once known him was hard. By habit, his gaze lingered on his burned hand. It was the way it had been when he woke; a constant reminder of the part of himself he had lost forever. Until today, no one had told him how he came to it.

Outside, wolves started to howl. They were many miles away from Harrenhal. It was not the man's ears that heard them.

He was running across a snowed forest. The night was moonless and cold. Though the pack was close now, they posed him no danger. He was bigger than they, quicker and stronger. The smell of ice, fire and death clung to him like a second skin. They may count hundreds, yet none of them would dare closer. None of them save her. She was a sister of the same litter, but she did not seek him for family bonds. The time of mating had come, and she was determined to claim him.

Jon restrained Ghost, as he had countless times before. A wolf's instinct against a man's mind. She howled loudly when Ghost refused to follow her scent. Jon could feel her fury with his whole being. And he could feel something else. Determination and a flicker of almost human thought he had never sensed before. She was up to something.


	2. The Dead Man

In the great hall of Harrenhal, all thirty-five hearths burned. Hundreds of men-at-arms from all houses mingled freely amongst themselves, and even with smallfolk. No one cared much for loyalties or courtesies. A few storeys up, in a small hall which was once a lady's day chamber, the noble company ate with a more restrained air.

There were new faces today, but not for the first time Jon's gaze lingered upon two young maidens. _Youth is not a safe armor against pain and death,_ he mused. Princess Shireen and Princess Myrcella resembled a reflection in a twisted mirror; only the older girl has a veil hiding her disfigurement on the right side, while the younger on the left. Both Baratheons still. It would be rude to claim otherwise in proper company. To the right of the scarred maidens sat their guardians; Addam Marbrand and Justin Massey, but most of the table belonged to the Tyrells and their companions. Jon did not miss that Lady Olenna and her retinue looked as though they were barely containing their annoyance. _All for the better. Anger suits me better than empty courtesy and schemes hidden behind shallow smiles._

He ate his boiled egg without hurry. At this point all talk had long died away. The only sounds that could be heard were the clinking of knives and the bitter wind raging outside. Jon was the last one to finish his meal. Only then did he turn to Willas Tyrell. "How can I be of service, my lord?"

"By eating faster," Lady Olenna suggested. The old woman was wrinkled, wizened, and barely larger than child, but she had a sharp look.

"Grandmother, please," Willas protested mildly. The lord of Highgarden was a man past thirty with thoughtful brown eyes and a plain face. Jon sensed discontent between the two. "We hoped to reach a private agreement before the other parties arrive and add their voice to the quarrel," Willas acknowledged openly. "Of course, Lady Sansa can be party to this agreement too."

"Snakes," Jon heard Ser Marbrand mutter. Massey, who had been with Jon longer, remained silent.

"Or you could have been invited by private agreement. Lady Sansa offered it to me as soon as I called this council. I accepted it, of course." Jon's voice was calm but he found himself flexing his burned fingers. "However, nothing will be decided before everyone arrives. You will have to wait for the beginning of the council."

"If they arrive at all, Snow. I don't have time to wait till spring." Lady Olenna gave him a biting smile.

"That I can understand, my lady. Those who will see the next spring are likely yet to be born." The silence which followed was awkward but a little fearful too. Jon broke it himself. "Lady Arryn and Prince Trystane will arrive sooner than that. Roads are still reasonably safe in the South, and Lady Sansa has begun her march with half of her army."

"Who will represent the North? Lady Sansa has been disinherited by her brother," said Lady Olenna, feigning innocence.

Jon had heard about Robb Stark's will, but would rather the Tyrells hadn't. It would be much easier to reach an understanding with his half-sister without other houses interfering. "I am sure that Lady Sansa and I will be able to reach an agreement."

Lady Olenna snorted at that. Jon knew she was not wrong with her unbelief. If he and Sansa quarreled it would not be the first time, despite not meeting in person since Lord Eddard Stark still lived. But he wouldn't tell Lady Olenna that much.

At midday one blast was heard. Jon knew it could not be his guests; Lady Sansa and Prince Trystane were still too far away. Smallfolk were wont to find their way to Harrenhal from time to time. If they weren't sick, they were allowed to enter. They were not the only ones arriving this time, though. Ghost took advantage of the open gate and ran to Jon across the yard. The Lord of Harrenhal stretched his burned hand to pat him, but the animal bolted. Ghost regarded him for a moment, silently with his red-blood eyes, and then headed to the godswood. Jon followed. The direwolf stopped in front of a huge and angry looking weirwood. Morning winds had quieted, and the sacred grove stood entirely still. Jon Snow knelt and looked into the red eyes—not so different from Ghost's—on the carved face.

"What do you wish, Brandon?" Jon could feel the dead boy watching, but the answer did not come.

Lady Olenna took it upon herself to prepare a feast for the princess. As long as she took food only from her own supply and was not too wasteful with it, Jon let her to her folly. Of Willas Tyrell he heard even less. Jon took his evening supper alone as was his custom. He read the messages, searched through passages in old scrolls, and wrote messages of his own while listening to the distant sounds of southron music. Three hours before midnight, he headed to the training yard with two of his guards.

He bested Damien, his own captain of guards, all four times they sparred, which was hardly an unusual occurrence, but his other guard Marw, a man twenty years his senior, got him today. It was less unsettling to be bested by Marw. Marw had been a soldier all his life, but he was a good man in his own way; always patient with young squires, and eager to bring few bones to the kennels when one of the bitches whelped. Damien was another sort entirely; five-and-twenty and exceptionally able, but Jon had had to question his own decision to trust the man more times than he could count.

Echoes of music still mingled with castle's own ghostly sounds upon his return. Apparently the hostess had abandoned her own feast. Lugs warned him of the visitor waiting in his chamber. Jon gave a curt nod to the guard and entered. Lady Olenna was staring at the barred window. She did not hear him. Jon noticed his parchments were slightly moved. It didn't bother him; whatever he wanted to keep secret he had fed to the flames.

"My lady," he addressed her and she turned, startled.

"It is rude not to knock, when you know someone is inside," the old noblewoman reproached him.

"More than paying a visit at such a late hour?"

She grinned at his words. It was unlike most of the expressions he had seen from her since the Tyrells arrived. It seemed almost genuine, but Jon did not miss the calculating glint in those eyes, surrounded by a fine map of wrinkles. "What do you want?" he asked directly.

She straightened, rising to the limits of her height, and it made her look ten years younger. Yet there was uncertainty hidden deep behind the bold face she showed to the world. "I want to stop sweet Lady Sansa, Lady of the Riverlands, the North and the Vale, from ruling any other part of the kingdom," she declared.

 _That is interesting._ He knew too little about the relations between the Tyrells and lady Sansa. Jon seated himself on the only chair in the room, not offering Lady Olenna any comfort. "Lady Arryn rules only the Vale, and only till her death. She gained the title by marriage, and through the death of her husband. In the absence of a likely heir."

"And I would like to keep it that way." Lady Olenna took a piece of parchment from a richly embroidered purse at the waist of her skirt and read aloud:

 _I, Robb Stark, King of the North and the Riverlands, hereby legitimize Jon Snow, the natural son of Eddard Stark, who will henceforth be called Jon Stark. I make obsolete the vows of the Night Watch, and in absence of a child of my own body, name him my heir. I am also disinheriting my sister Sansa, and any of her offspring, from the inheritance of House Stark and of House Tully. I command all loyal lords to honor this decision._

"Is it genuine?" Jon had not heard the exact words before this moment.

"The words are. The two copies Robb Stark signed himself are held by the Greatjon Umber and Howland Reed, but the text is precise to the word."

"So you don't have to worry about the Riverlands or the North."

"Oh, but I do. No one of us has stayed alive this long for thinking a piece of paper secures anything. But I need answers. Why did you betray your sweet sister? I am sure she won't be happy hearing that you announced her plan so plainly to all of us."

"I did not betray her. I called this council. I may not come from it as the king, but the council will be played by my rules." He could sense that the unyielding hardness of his voice had taken her aback.

"And what about you? I cannot marry Sansa, but Willas can. How can I know that you do not plan to estrange us only to form your own alliance?"

Lady Olenna made a rude noise. "Seashells are growing on the wreck of that ship. I was discourteous to her. And despite her sweet face and perfect manners—and everything she must have learned from Peter Baelish—she lacks a certain finesse." Jon much doubted that was all, but the Lady Olenna's disdain for Sansa sounded real. She continued: "Besides, I don't think Sansa would give you up so easily. According to the deceased and unlamented Daenerys, first of her name, Burner of Nephews and Rightful Queen of Westeros, _you_ are heir to the Iron Throne."

"You have to trust me in one thing: I have no idea why." He could understand Robb Stark's will; maybe they have been close before Jon went to the Wall. Also, at the time the young king had written it, Sansa, his legal heir, was married to his enemy. Daenerys' choice was much more puzzling.

Lady Olenna shrugged. "She was a Targaryen. I wouldn't waste too much time trying to find any sense in it."

"Daenerys wasn't mad," Jon objected.

"Who cares? Even with her dragons gone, there are many troops loyal to her. I am more concerned about what kind of man you are. Not Eddard Stark-the-Second, we should hope."

Jon knew what she meant. He had spoken with every remaining person who had been in Kings Landing during Eddard Stark's short regime as Hand. Not many were still alive, let alone those who been close to King Robert's childhood friend. Yet Jon had heard that his lord father had been ill-suited for the position of the Hand, that Lady Sansa had been captive in the Red Keep for a time, and that no one knew anything at all about her younger sister Arya. Jon found that in particular frustrating, due to the bond between Ghost and Nymeria, and everything that had led to the bloodshed which ended his service to the Watch. _Let it be,_ he repeated to himself. _Then was then and now is now; the past is forever lost._

"Where does this leave us?" Jon asked his companion.

"I want you to give up any claim you have to the Irone Throne and support Willas. You should keep the North and the Riverlands. You should marry and father as many children as you can."

"Or you will alienate me from my half-sister, marry her to Willas and be rid of me." Daenerys might have named him his heir, but without the support of the other lords, his claim was less sure than a drunkard's step. Should this council go wrong, he would be fighting at two borders.

"I mean for the Tyrells to rule Westeros, that part is true, but as I told you, I don't trust Sansa. I will do what I can to keep her from gaining more power, and I will be your best ally if you do the same. Ask what you will as a reward: men, food, gold. We have much more of each than you do."

"And what happens if Lady Sansa marries Trystane? Granted, he does not hold much power, but with a few more allies it could lay all those plans to dust."

Lady Olenna laughed. "Dorne can't change anything. They never could, no matter how bothersome they are. Besides, he won't have her. The fool is in love."

"Love has nothing to do with this," Jon objected.

Lady Olenna held his gaze for a long time. Longer than most men would, but eventually her eyes flickered to the hearth, and she spoke. "That is what the rules say. I think you know by now how far you would go, playing by those. They say you remember what you have been taught, though nothing from your life until the moment you woke from your injuries. I'm starting to doubt it, or else someone has been very lax with your education. Find a master—there are still a few of those useless mouths left around—and ask him what happened when the greatest tourney of the century was held in this very own cursed castle. Love is a terrifying force, boy. I will leave you time to think on it, but not much." With that she stood and went to the door.

Before midnight, the music died. Not even an hour later, a different sound disturbed his serenity. A woman screamed, terrified, and then screamed again. The Tower of Dread, Jon Snow realised, and hurried there. The tower was where he had accommodated both Lannisters and Baratheons. After the War of the Five Kings, many would find such arrangement puzzling, but there was little enmity between Princess Myrcella and Princess Shireen.

Upon his arrival, Jon found Princess Myrcella calming one of her maids. Shireen Baratheon was there too, looking around helplessly. Ser Addam stood in front of the women, his eyes were staring intently at a corpse near Princess Myrcella's door.

The dead man's cloak seemed bright red at first glance. Only here and there, streaks of white still remained. When they turned him over, Jon could see where a lot of blood had poured through an opening on his visor. More blood seeped from the slacks between the iron plates. Despite the blood, there was no doubt that the dead man was Meryn Trant. A knight who had styled himself as Myrcella's kingsguard.

"Gods be good, what happened here?" asked Lord Willas. The Tyrells had arrived, as drawn by the screams as the rest of the castle.

"Someone died, my dear. It would seem obvious," answered his grandmother.

"Lady Olenna, will you please take Princess and Princes Shireen to your quarters? And the maid too, if you can," Jon asked her.

"Of course, come with me sweetlings." The old lady took both girls, one in each arm, and ordered one of her own ladies to take care of the serving girl. Princes Myrcella and the maid went timidly, but Princess Shireen turned as she went and shot Jon a hesitant glance, before finally departing.

Once the women left, Jon, with help of Addam Marbrand, stripped the corpse of armor. They could count five stab wounds; the left leg, the right hand, one eye, through the bowels, bowels and also through the neck. How the attacker managed to fit the dead man back into his armor was a mystery.

"Did Trant anger some bravo?"Justin Massey asked in an untroubled voice. He had just arrived, hastily clothed, unarmed and with no armor.

"What do you mean?" frowned Marbrand, but Jon understood, and so did Willas Tyrrell.

It was Willas who answered. "Look at the cuts Addam. They were made by a sharp and slender blade."

That did not satisfy Ser Addam. "A farce, and a foolish one. Someone was after Princess Myrcella. He must have been interrupted."

"I am not so sure. It hardly seems to have been done in a hurry," objected Willas Tyrell.

"Who would bother with Trant?" Addam Marbrand disagreed. "If Princess Myrcella isn't the target, then it must be a message." Looking into dead man's pale face, Jon thought so too. _I need to find out who is behind this, and quickly._ He could not have imagined just how quickly it could happen.

It was the feel of cold steel against his neck which woke him. A light, perversely gentle touch. The flat side of blade was caressing his skin in the same spot where a badly healed scar already lay; a reminder of the previous assault on his life.

Instinctively, he looked around, but he had blown out the candles himself, his window was barred, and even the embers in the hearth which usually smoldered till the morning were cold and dark. He wasted a few more seconds searching for the sound of the intruder's breath, and when he failed to find it, he did not wait any longer, but attacked.

The man was quick. Jon couldn't even touch him before he somehow had his hands bound, and the blade once again on his neck. This time it was not the flat side. He didn't bother to speak, or plead for his life. Nor did he try calling for his guards, just down the hall. He reached for Ghost instead. Their souls touched. The wolf was alive and well, but locked within the godswood. The attacker had ensured that the direwolf wouldn't interfere.

It filled Jon with a black rage. His mind left the direwolf and sought another being in the room. _Abomination_ , the wildlings would call it. Jon did not care.

Suddenly, briefly, he became one being in two bodies. He was lying in the bed, but he was also kneeling above himself holding the knife in the left hand. He was carefully controlling his breathing, and his senses became much sharper, almost like the senses of a direwolf. He could hear two guards talking, a man down the hall making water into his chamber pot, and the one snoring two rooms above; he could smell the cold ashes and the scrolls on his table. Most of all he could smell himself.

 _Strong appealing smell and very familiar._ That caught Jon by surprise, but he had little time to wonder. His victim returned his own assault with vengeance. Bewildered, Jon felt someone take over his body, forcing him to the corner of his own mind. In the godswood, Ghost scratched on the oak gate.

Jon fought furiously for control and finally succeeded. Somewhere in the forest a She-Wolf howled in fury. Jon and his assailant both tried a few more times, neither able to control the other. In the end, they ended where they had begun, only breathing hard and sweating. Jon could smell _her_ now, even hear her breath. What was more, he could feel her soul or more precisely, two souls bonded. One belonged to a woman, and the other to an agitated direwolf.

"Put down the knife," Jon spoke calmly. She listened, as he knew she would. Jon covered his mouth with his still bound hands and broke into muffled laughter. He hadn't laughed for so long. Val had taught him how to laugh when she had found him, but after she had died he seemed to have forgotten again.

"Just how much control do you have over your wolf?" he asked, when he was finally able to calm himself.

The girl in his room and the direwolf in the woods growled as one. "Not much," Jon teased.

"You should let Ghost be." Her cold voice was heavily flavored with accent of the Free Cities. For some reason he was very glad that she still knew human talk at all.

"It wouldn't be right. They are of the same litter, little sister." She had self-control like no one Jon had ever met, but he could feel phantoms of her feelings in her direwolf. The familiar address seemed to unsettle her.

"I thought you did not remember." He could almost see her frown despite the darkness.

"I don't, Ghost does. You are bonded with Nymeria. So you must be Arya Stark—my little sister." _And you were supposed to be dead._ For years and years, yet here she was. He had broken his vow for her, it was the last thing he had done in his old life. But that girl had only been an imposter, who had eventually fled to Vale and died there.

"So you know a name," Arya Stark retorted." What of it? It holds no meaning for you—nor for me. It was too long ago, and too much has happened since."

 _Sweet little liar._ Half of her soul was wolf, same as his. They could never be strangers, Jon knew. "I am curious to hear so. Thus far, my life is full of great friends and dear kin I cannot remember, or so they tell me."

"They are lying," she offered flatly. Jon felt her cutting his bonds. He made no attempt to reach for her, knowing it would be useless.

"Why did you kill Meryn Trant?" he asked instead. Somehow, he was sure it must have been her.

"I will tell you if you will let Ghost mate with Nymeria."

Jon chuckled at that. If he knew one thing, it was how to bargain, and she was not starting out especially refined. He was not sure they could ever reach an understanding in this. It made him strangely sad.

"No," he told her.

"I could kill you."

"You won't." Jon was certain of that. "How did you expect it to work, anyway? I would know Nymeria was behind this as soon as you told me what you wanted, and she would never harm me." _Neither would you._

"It wasn't the best plan." She shrugged. "But there I hoped I could distract you for a while. What else could I do?"

"Bargain." As soon as the word passed his lips Jon had to wonder which spirit possessed him to tell her that.

"And what do you desire from me, Jon Snow?" she whispered dangerously.

"Let me think about it."

"You have a fortnight. No more." He was sure he would use the time she had given him to the last moment. He was too intrigued to just let her walk away. Dimly, he wondered if she fully understood that if he gave her what Nymeria wanted, they wouldn't be free of each other for as long as the direwolves lived.

He thought she had left, a moment later she spoke again: "He was on the list."

"Who?" Jon asked though he already harboured a strong suspicion.

"Meryn Trant."

"What kind of list was it?"

"A list of people I have to kill." With that she was truly gone.

She came to him in the night. She was quieter than any man and cloaked in magic, but he could smell her and could see her. _Strong human female with many steel claws and poisons with her_. She bent to him and nibbled his ear as a real wolf would before she opened the gate and let him be free.


	3. The Serving Girl

_**AN: Many thanks for the reviews.** _

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In the bathhouse of Harrenhal the part for nobles and the part for common men were separated. The part for the common men was full, not so much the other one. Oft a lording or a squire would finds his way there, but today Jon was alone, or as alone as he could be with two guards at the door. A raven had come announcing that Sansa Stark and her retinue had crossed the Trident two days past. Traveling only during daylight they were to arrive on the morrow. The other attendant, prince Trystane was yet to pass the border of Riverlands. _The sooner the better, North won't last alone forever._

Thinking of North brought back memories of his unusual encourager with Arya Stark. She was much on his mind ever since. Just by her connection to her wolf she touched a part of himself he thought forbidden to others. A part he never fully shared even with Val. In a way she and Nymeria were one, just as he and Ghost. Yet Jon could not remember the girl herself any more than anything else from _before._ The only answers he had were colorless facts. Arya Stark was the second daughter of Eddard Stark, born while her lord father was away battling Greyjoys. He recalled even the day exact from maester Malleon's book. She had passed her fifteenth nameday one moon past. The girl had gone with her father and older sister to Kings Landing and disappeared during Eddard Stark's arrest. No one heard about her since. The maiden Lannisters later married to Ramsay Bolton had been a fraud. Then there was the fact that he had broken his own oath for her. Not for the first time Jon would have liked to have a talk with his older self.

Noises outside interrupted his musings. Jon counted three voices. He could tell apart Hagga and Neil in their usual banter. The two had become fast friends despite one being Skaggosi and the other a son of a merchant from the Arbor. Maybe it had to do with their youth, they were both only seven and ten, by far the youngest of Jon's personal guards. The third voice belonged to a woman. It sounded familiar too but Jon couldn't recognize her until she entered. She was one of princess Myrcella's maids, but not the one he heard screaming the day before, that had been girl this was a woman past twenty, uncommonly high, but not unhomely in face. She blushed when she saw Jon in a bath. "M'lord I brought a message."

"Bring it here." Jon reached for the parchment, intentionally touching her hand in the process. She blushed even more though she seemed startled by the burns on his hand.

The message was sealed but only by an uncolored wax and there was no signature. _'Meet me at the rookery in the hour of the wolf'_ , it read. Jon wondered who could have send it. Somehow he felt that a woman would be more likely to use another woman as a messenger. Not Myrcella, though, he decided in an instant. She was not the one to play this game, besides the girl would be clever enough not to use her own maid. _I will find out soon enough._ All in all Jon was not happy about the message. He did not mean to bring guards with him but he could not bring Ghost to the rookery either.

"Who sent it?" Jon asked the woman, though he was not much hopeful for the answer.

"I cannot tell," the maid said gazing down.

Jon let it be, most likely the true sender used more than one messenger. He dismissed the woman and was let alone once again and with one more worry to chew upon.

That day was one of those when Jon supped in the Great Hall. Only two northern lords, a maester and chief of Harrenhal guards decided to join him. Half of the Great Hall took the tables were the soldiers and men of craft ate. In the other many of them slept in hastily built constructions of three even four stories. Most of the men had to go for the food themselves; only three tables for the officers of the highest ranks were served. Jon sat behind one of them.

He spoke little, listening to grim talk about winter and much more cheerful talk about swords and horses. A few times someone gathered courage and came to him with a request or question. The meal was almost done when his attention was caught at once by thin a girl with pale skin and hair like straw. At first glance there seemed to be nothing extraordinary about her. She was a plain one about thirteen years old. Not even her movements should have called to attention. She went around tables seemingly like any new serving girl would, trying to avoid greedy hands of men and quick hands of hungry children, whom even guards could not keep entirely away. Only on a very close look there appeared to be something coldly calculated about every coincidence that happened to her. But not even Jon would have noticed if not for the same magic tainting their blood and revealing her true nature to him.

"Who is the fair-haired serving girl?" Jon asked Tutty, a stout woman who observed all food that went to the Great Hall when she came personally pour them wine.

"My lord has a sharp eye, she is new. I can't even remember her name. Jully or Alayne, I am not sure. She came yesterday with bunch of villagers and sellswords. Quiet, but quick to learn and quick to work and she has no kin or man to sneak food to. I'll call her here, or to your chamber, just don't make her think too much of herself."

 _I don't mean to bed her,_ Jon wanted to object, but then he decided it would suit him better to let Tutty think what she would. "Bring her here, I would like to speak to her."

He couldn't hear their voice but even in smoked hall he could see how the girl looked directly at him when Tutty approached her. Something odd flashed in the maid's eyes before shyness replaced it. She came to their table timidly. Jon's companions watched it all puzzled. He often spoke to smallfolk, but he hadn't dismissed Tutty when she suggested he wanted to bed the girl.

Once the serving maid approached their table Jon saw that he guessed her wrong. She must have been at least fifteen or even as old as seventeen. Her brow was too wide, her hair brittle and her skin so thin and pale that you could see blue veins under it. There was something little odd about her this close up. Something almost unfocused. _Glamor_ , he knew suddenly.

Damien not even put off by Jon's presence smiled lecherously at her. Jon's captain of guards was implacable in his work but also bold to a point of disrespect, and when it came to women fond of boasting that he had never bedded a girl who hadn't been a maiden.

"M'lord," the maid spoke quietly to her old boots.

"How they call you, girl?" Jon done his best not to let his musings be heard in his voice.

"Jeyne, m'lord, Strawy Jeyne sometimes." Her mummery was flawless, but Jon saw right through her lie.

"Will you walk with me, Jeyne?" Jon asked her openly ignoring the looks of men around.

"Now m'lord? I must serve." She put fear in her answer, but there was no one to take the side of a peasant girl.

"Don't be rude to the Lord," Tutty reproached her sternly, "Frina would do your work."

There was nothing _Jeyne_ could object to that. Jon stood and led her from the hall. They neared many men but no one dared to touch her when she was with him. Jon put hand of the small of her back and watched an impressive blush appear on her neck and cheeks.

"Ghost will guard me," he dismissed his men at the entrance of the hall.

His words seemed to unnerve his companion, she must have known that direwolf would see right trough her. "I won't hurt my lord, I swear on Seven. Please don't call the beast. I would be scared," she shuddered.

"Don't worry, he will wait in front of my chamber."

"Your chamber, my lord..." she repeated nervously, if she had been a true serving maid, she would surely know her fate by now.

They passed by more of Jon's guards. Marw looked surprised and confused, Lugs unaffected as always but neither said a word.

She would have him soon, Jon knew, but damn him, he wouldn't be the one to lose this charade as he lost their last fight. He was tired of being played by his sisters. Without warming he took her by both hands and kissed her. It was meant only to be a brief peck on lips, just another move in this play, but it went out of control more quickly than a jar of wildfire thrown into flame. In no time he had her against a wall their bodies so close that she must have felt his hardening manhood trough their clothes. He would not be able to tell how long it lasted but she was the one to put him away. Quick as a snake she slipped from under him and backed few steps. Only then did he wake from the trance.

"Please m'lord, don't I am scared." Jon have to admire her skill in mummery. _Or is her fear and surprise real?_

He made a step closer and she started to run. She was very quick, he was not even sure he would able to stop her and if he wouldn't she could disappear forever. "Arya, wait," he whispered. It worked like a spell, she stilled in an instant.

"Arya Stark is dead," her voice was barely louder than her breath.

"Please come with me, I never meant to truly bed you, I just…" He just wanted to know how far she was willing to take this charade, or so he assured himself. But he couldn't find the right words to tell her, still baffled at his lack of control. "I am sorry, I won't act improperly with you again, I swear."

Among all her distress he sensed a slight flicker of amusement. "You should, otherwise men will wonder."

"Will you come to my chambers?" he repeated quietly and she nodded.

He put a hand on the small of her back afraid she would run and she shivered but didn't pull away. Ghost joined them at the yard. The guards at tower threw his way bewildered looks, as had did the men in the hall. Jon was never before seen to show much interest in women, he knew that some of his own men whispered that the attack at the Wall left him incapable, and sometimes more quietly even that him walking among them was no proof that he hadn't died. Today he must have been a sight, flushed and disheveled, leading a girl to his chambers in the middle of a day and telling his men to leave him alone.

Arya seemed sharing his thoughts. "At least you were convincing," she told him in a perfectly calm voice once they entered his chambers. He still found it hard to comprehend about what happened moments before, much less to answer to that.

"How did you knew it was me?" she asked. Concentrating on her question helped him to regain some of his balance. He knew the reason well though he had never talked about it with anyone save wildlingds, but there was no reason to keep it from her. If he was a beast she was of the same kind.

"One warg can always tell another."

"Warg," she repeated as she was testing the word, "I suppose it makes sense." Then she frowned, "How many wargs are there?"

"Here only you and I, at least twenty more among the wildlings in the North."

"Every one is danger to me," she mused.

"Much less than you are to them, they are my people." He could fathom where her thoughts were heading.

"Your pack," she half-smiled. "Will all people of the kingdom be your pack if you become the king?"

"No." Jon's burnt hand wandered to the side of her face and he took a strand of the strawy hair between his fingers. He had learned enough about glamor from Lady Melisandre to know this girl was not showing him her real face, but he could not see through the spell. Was what he was feeling even real? She did not even seem to notice. "They already are. All living people are my pack and always will be. I was a man of the Night's Watch once, even a Lord Commander, do you know what ours words tell?"

"Yes." She nodded solemnly.

"The night truly gathers," he told her, "the winter has come."

"I know," She answered. She would have to, he mused, Nymeria would feel it in the air.

He did not even know why it mean so much to him. Maybe it was that he finally didn't feel so alone in his fight. By some half-forgotten instinct he carefully took her in his arms, terrified that he could lose control again. In the end the effect of their closeness was different. All he could feel now was calmness he did not know since Val. He could not help but compare them. Arya was a head shorter and smelled of wolf and blood instead of winter morning. The smell was not familiar, yet right all the same.

"Don't run away from me," he asked of her.

"I wouldn't, we have a bargain to settle."


	4. Rookery

Arya had returned to the Great Hall eventually and Jon sat to his letters though he found it hard to focus. His little sister seemed to bring chaos into his life he could not remember. As soon as he left his chambers Jon found that his abrupt departure from the Great hall didn't go unnoticed. Whispers arose wherever he went and he knew he was only to add fuel to the flame when he made Jeyne his own cupbearer.

"Just threat her honestly," Tutty asked of him when he told her. The woman was bold in her on way, not many of Jon's servants would find it in themselves to be so frank.

"Was she distraught after she had returned?" Jon inquired.

"No, none of that," Tutty answered quickly, "only, if I may speak, m'lord is young and handsome not hard for a girl to like and I found her staring dreamily. Guileless as she is when it comes to men, I am afraid she might think too much of it, and who knows what the fool might do once m'lord gets betrothed to some noble lady. I have seen tis lead to trouble."

Jon found herself wondering it Arya would be affected at all if he got betrothed, but to Tutty he only nodded solemnly. When no other pressing concern arose he decided to go to the training yard.

Jon was a good swordsman, but not a great one. It was not so unusual for Addam Marbrand or more often Damien to beat him. With Quick Will, a hedge knight of age with Jon from the Stormlands and best swordsman in Harrenhal he barely won every seventh match. Not today though, today all of them ended up kneeling in half melted snow and mud.

"With such a prowess in the yard one would think that you would have better pick of willing maidens. Alas, it seems that you ended up with a flat-chested kitchen scullion." A woman's voice called after him as he was helping Will up to his feet. Confused, Will furrowed his brows, he didn't hear yet, but Massey's chuckled. Once Will was standing again Jon turned to greet Lady Olenna. Instead of flock of ladies she was surrounded only by two guards.

"Will you pardon us good lords and sers?" The lady looked at them pointedly. There were two score men around them, knights and warriors, but also curious squires. One by one Lady Olenna's stare sent them away. Marbrand and Massey were the last to leave. "I am not her dog." Marbrand muttered.

"No, but you may end up as her bannerman which counts for just as much." Massey shrugged. "Come Addam, I am sure Snow can handle it."

"I underestimated you, boy. What game in seven hells are you playing now?" Lady Olenna asked when the knights were far enough. She sounded more intrigued than indignant.

"Which one do you mean?" Jon returned calmly.

"The serving girl of course. Do you intend to father a bastard on her just to prove you are still capable of doing so?" Her brown eyes bore into him.

"I am bastard myself but I ended up inheriting my brother's kingdom before my trueborn sister, such child would scarcely help me with marriage alliances. What makes you think that I am not just a man fond of young girls warming my bed? Did it become so uncommon in these days?"

She snorted. "Hardly, but I have known few men willing to make fools of themselves by pursuing a girl in the middle of a day in front of whole hall. Besides she is neither pretty nor does she have much of wits."

"You spoke with her," Jon stated dryly. He did not expect that his actions would draw attention to Arya. He meant to keep her out of it at least for now. It was unsettling how much he underestimated people around him.

"I did, as it happens. You couldn't have choose a more blatant one, one would think it had to be an intention. Is there a Northern daughter you need to keep off your skin?"

"Believe me, there are no more northern maidens left to refuse." That was even half a trutht. As soon as it baceme known that he was named Robb Stark's heir the marriage proposals kept coming. He didn't accept any of them.

"So it is a Vale one." Lady Olenna did not bother to wait for his answer. It suited Jon well enough. _She can think what she wants as long as it isn't the truth._

The time of his secret meeting arrived quickly. The rookery was one of the few places where windows remained unbarred no matter the weather. The starlight was falling on birdcages. Half of them were occupied.

The ravens welcomed him with their quorks. It disquieted Jon that the person chose one of few places where Ghost could not follow him. The direwolf would put the birds in mad frenzy. Still, Jon leaned against an empty wooden barrel and waited. He could hear nothing out of ordinary but after a moment he became aware of familiar presence. He looked around but he could not find her in dark shadows surrounding him.

"Don't try to spot me." Arya whispered as if she could read his thoughts.

"Did you send the message?" Jon asked still unable to tell where she was standing.

"No, but I know who did. I can leave you if you want. She won't harm you." _So I have a direwolf with me in a way after all._ Jon almost smiled.

"Stay." He wanted to ask who the sender was but in that moment a raven flew in noisily.

"CORN CORN, ARYA!" it shrieked and perched itself on Jon's arm as if nothing out of ordinary had happened.

"Be quiet stupid!" Arya snapped at the bird.

The raven must have heeded Arya's words because it said nothing more and soon Jon could hear careful quiet footsteps ascending to them. The door opened with barely a squeak and a hooded woman in simple servant's clothes came in. Even her face was covered by shaft. Despite that and despite neither of them lighting a torch Jon could recognize her.

"Princess Shireen," Jon greeted her surprised.

"Am I princess still?" she asked, "How did you even know it was me before I spoke, my lord?"

"There are some who want you for their queen," Jon answered avoiding her second question.

"There are more who wanted to crown Edric before his ship sunk on its way from Lys, some still want to crown that bastard boy who rides with outlaws, some want to crown Myrcella, some Trystane and of course many want to crown you. But that doesn't matter now, how did you knew it was me?" she repeated.

"You walk very quietly, I could tell by the sound of your steps." _And by your smell, I could smell you, even the illness._

"I tried to be careful."

"You should not send Myrcella's maid then, she could have led me to you."

"She would have led you only to Myrcella, she gave her the message."

"Does Myrcella know what was in it?"

"No, we trust each other." That much was true, Jon had learned early on. Strange as it may seem, there seemed to be a real bond between the girls.

"It was risky, all the same. I thought you were clever with the rookery." He allowed. In a way Jon was fond of the girl.

"Unintentionally, I fear, I am simply fond of ravens." Shireen took out her hand and patted the bird on his shoulder.

"It was," Jon confirmed, though he did not reveal to her that he was more valuable here, where Ghost couldn't follow him, "no one can sneak here unseen and if someone saw only one of as coming here, they are more likely to assume that we are sending secret messages than that we are meeting. But either way, why all of this, why did you wish to speak to me in secrecy?"

"There are so many people I cannot trust and I don't know their names. I was in Myrcella's chamber the night Ser Meryn was killed I heard him talk to someone a moment before just few moments before he died."

"Do you know who it was?" Jon asked carefully.

"No, only that it was a woman."

"A woman, are you certain?" Jon filled his voice with false concern. He knew she was right, but he could not tell her that.

"I know," she said frustrated, "the way he was killed... but I am sure there was not enough time for it to be anyone else."

"Thank you for telling me, I will do my best to protect you and Myrcella. Is there anything else you wish to speak about?"

He saw her face darkening in a moonlight, a blush, he realized surprised. "We barely talked in a long time. I liked you when you were at the Wall, you have changed a lot, but I still feel like I could trust you." She took a deep breath "I am no fool, I know I am not pretty some find me even disgusting but I could make a good wife. I am not… my maester does not think I am barren. I have much to offer. Storm's End is mine by right and the rest of my father's army too. Myrcella would rather join the silent sisters than become the queen and which woman could offer you more? Only Lady Sansa, but you can hardly marry your own sister."

"Which of us would be giving up the crown?" he asked quietly.

She looked at him straight in eyes without shame or fear. "It would be only formality, but I have to keep it. I am daughter of Stannis Baratheon I cannot give up without a fight."

He put a hand on her arm. "You know that many the lords won't see it the same. A formality for us might be a reason not to accept the rule for them." Jon knew the truth of his words, after Daenerys and Cersei there were lords who would fight against a woman ruling Westeros, no matter the men ruling just as poorly before them. "Thank you for your offer, princess, I cannot accept it yet. We should return to our beds, the days are too short to be slept through."

She watched him, thoughtful and silent for a long time and then just nodded sadly. Jon felt as if he should tell her something, but he did not know what. He had some liking of the girl, but he could not accept the offer.

Shireen's steps long died away before the other person let herself known. Arya launched on him suddenly from behind, or so he thought at first, but soon he understood that the true prey was the raven perching on his shoulder. The bird was too quick though and it flew away its loud quorks sounding suspiciously like a laughter.

"Shireen would make a good queen," Arya spoke abruptly while her gaze still followed the raven towards the dark mass of the forest.

"She would have to fight for that right more than any man. She doesn't have enough lords behind her for that, and I am not sure Westeros would survive another such war." Shireen's claim was solid enough, second only to Jon's but she did not have enough power to deal with strong opposition.

Full moon outlined Arya's silhouette in the window. "Maybe she can marry someone with a big enough army," she answered calmly.

"I am certain Willas Tyrell will make an offer. But they won't reach any agreement if Shireen won't give up her crown."

Arya shrugged. "I was actually talking about you. I don't think it would be impossible to convince her that the formality of it goes both ways. Or are you promised to someone already?" she asked suspicious.

"I wouldn't be chasing after serving girls if I had. I would not even pretend," he answered her honestly.

"I heard you had a wildling lover while you were in the Watch." There was puzzlement in her voice. It seemed confusing even to him, but he no longer held the answers.

"Ygritte, they told me, but I don't remember anything from that time, I only know that she is dead."

He more heard than saw Arya frown. "And there wasn't anyone else, not even for a night? You didn't seem as a man who doesn't remember being with a woman yesterday."

"That is because there was Val too," he allowed. Val had died just before they reached Stannis at the end of their long journey from the ruins of Castle Black and he had never told a living soul.

At Jon's order his steward had prepared a chamber a door away from Jon's own for the lord's new cupbearer. It was a room of just the right size, not too small, but not too big to heat well, far better than anything most men would deem proper for a servant, but when they returned Arya disrobed to her shift and smallclothes and claimed Jon's own bed declaring in a matter of fact voice that they would be warmer sleeping close to each other. Jon did not try to argue though as he joined her memories of their unfortunate kiss weighted heavily on his mind. He did not remember her as his sister and his feelings for her, he had to acknowledge, were not perfectly fraternal. Yet, when she yawned, rested her head on his chest and in the most unhurried voice asked if he had thought about their deal, he felt strangely comfortable and at ease.

"No yet," he lied. He put a lock of her strawy hear behind her ear and slid his arms around her.

She wriggled in his embrace but did not try to get free. Jon expected she would demand a better answer, but instead she only asked: "So, who was Val?"


	5. Glamor

In the morning Jon woke to a warm bed. Arya Stark was snuggled to him, her hands hugging him, their legs intertwined. It was a very intimate position, but he was not sure he should read much to it. By habit Jon touched the mind of his wolf. Ghost was miles away just returning to Harrenhal his nose filled with Nymeria's smell. Jon still did not allow the wolves to mate, but he was finding himself much more understanding of Ghost. He took a lock of Arya's hair gently between his fingers and away from the sleeping girl's face and sighed. It was not so surprising considering their sleeping arrangement but he was hard. He was just about to stand up and take care of the matter when a small hand moved under sheets with steely precision and reached for the laces of his smallclothes.

"Arya!" he hissed and stopped her hand.

"I don't mind," she told him in a voice with no trace of sleep. He had not even noticed when she woke.

"I can deal with that myself, we are siblings," He objected though he was not sure if that was true reason for his reluctance. Maybe he just wanted more than basic pleasure found in flesh.

"This is not bedding you, I was just offering a helping hand... or mouth," she answered, as if it was the most obvious matter in the world.

"The answer is still no." Jon sensed she wanted to say more but in that moment something caught her attention. She straightened and titled her head towards the door. _Someone is coming._ Jon gently freed their limbs and stood up. He put on his breeches and opened the door just in the moment first knocking ended.

It was Tybolt and a washerwoman. Their expressions quickly changed when they spotted a barely clothed girl in his bed. Stewards face went quickly from surprised to its usual anxious look, the woman looked resentful. She was devoted to beliefs of the Faith about marriage, Jon could guess, but even she would not dare to tell him anything openly.

"Bring me fresh clothes to the bathhouse and clothes and draw a bath for the girl," Jon told them and closed the door without any further explanation.

His bath was cold that day. Afterward he headed to the Tower of Ghosts. It was past time to seek Willas Tyrell. Jon hadn't talked with the Lord of Highgarden since the first day the Tyrells had arrived. Most of the Reach lords he acquainted in the training yard, but Willas Tyrell hadn't held a sword for years, not since his injury. He did not visit Harrenhal's bathhouse either, but preferred to take his bath alone. Jon supposed that it has due his injury too.

Willas Tyrell had spent some time with Princess Shireen walking the snowed gardens, and with Princess Myrcella too Jon learned from a maid. He had been seen in remains of Harrenhal's library and he had visited the kennels, rookery and even the kitchens, Jon was told by one of maesters. Those were the places Jon himself would go given a chance if he wanted to know how the castle was run. Finally Jon found Lord Willas in the stables.

He was talking with Jon's master of horse and while Jon listened to their talk unseen, he found that Willas Tyrell knew much more about horses than he himself. Jon would have postponed his introduction a little longer but Ghost found him in that moment and half of stables whined in terror. Both men turned absurdly to find Lord of Harrenhal standing silently at the entrance to the stables Ghost at his side.

"My lords, with your leave." The master of horse bowed and leading way a mare which had to be taken to the farrier.

"Your Grace," Willas Tyrell greeted him. Even by the closest look there was nothing extraordinary about the Tyrell's looks. He was a plain man little past thirty of middle height, more thin than muscular. Then of course there was a simple wooden cane in his right hand.

"I am neither prince nor a king, my lord," Jon responded.

"North and Riverlands would disagree and soon the rest of the Seven Kingdoms may join them," Lord Willas answered calmly watching him with interest.

"Don't you want to be a king?" Jon asked openly.

Willas Tyrell just shrugged. "I am more than decade older than you, it is long time since I could afford to be a fool. I believe I can lead this kingdom, but I am what I am. Lords don't want a cripple for a king."

"They don't want an oath-breaking bastard, a green Dornish boy or a woman either. Yet one of us will have to do." Jon was sure one of them would do. What few lords survived the wars which plagued Westeros in recent years were tired of fighting.

"What a great pick we make," Willas laughed humorlessly, "but I suppose that you are right."

"Your grandmother seems to be set on Tyrells taking the throne."

Willas' face darkened slightly. "Yes, she is and I can imagine that she is already weaving her little webs. But in the end I am Lord of the Reach and the choice will be mine. This game she plays cost me most of my family. My father, Margaery, Loras. They might have been fools, but they did not deserve to die. Yet I know I can't stay away from it all. I will do what is needed. Nothing less but nothing more either."

Without another word he made to leave, not bothered by Jon and Ghost standing in the entrance. The lord of the Harrenhal let him go, knowing he would heed his company again.

On the return to his chambers Neil stopped him. "The girl asked for the leave to go to a sept," his guard told him with a concern. Out of all his men Neil was the only one who would care even for a girl like Jeyne. _He thinks she is conscientious for lying with a man outside marriage,_ Jon sighed inwardly. Arya truly was a skilled little mummer.

"Just as well, she is not a prisoner," Jon assured him.

Jon's chamber was as neat as he had ever seen it. Someone had changed his sheets, took away burned ashes and remains of old meals. Books and messages were sorted, the fire lit just right and there was a full wine flagon and new candles on his table. All done with care. His steward was no slouch but he lacked ability and eye for detail of person who had done this.

Jon put few new parchments on the table and stilled. Someone was talking to his guards down the corridor. Approaching footsteps followed, but he could not recognize the pattern. Someone knocked. Hesitant two and half knock. Jon waited not making a sound yet the person entered without his leave.

It was Arya with a plate of food, she did not seem slightest surprised that she had found him there.

"Did my guard told you I have returned?" he asked her curious.

"No, I know your senses are much better than those of common man and mine are much better than yours. Of course, I knew you were here."

Jon suddenly remembered the way of their first meeting and what he felt when his mind tried took control over her body. Sometimes he felt half a wolf but in that moment it seemed to him that Arya was real direwolf in heart. You would have never guessed looking at her straw hair, plain face and hunched posture only the look in her eyes when they were alone gave her away. He noticed also something else. "You have a new dress."

It was far from a lady's attire but it was much nicer than rags she had been wearing in the great hall. This one was linen with pattern of small blue flowers around its collar.

"Your washerwoman pities me, she thinks I should marry some good farmer or fisherman or even a solider and birth him many sons like a good little wife, not warm your bed like a whore, some girls are jealous, but Meddy from the kitchens gave it to me as a gift. She can sew very well, this was supposed to be for her little sister's wedding dress before she died."

"She must like you." It was surprising how quickly _Jeyne_ made herself known among the castle folk.

"She likes _Jeyne_ , she knows nothing about _me_." Arya put a platter down and caressed his face lingering at the scars around his eye. "It's astonishing how much I am letting you know."

Jon took her hand but she quickly put it away. It was strange how she could be calm about sharing his bed or taking his cock in her hand, but skittish as a wild mare in much else.

"Will you sup with me?" he asked.

"I might." She sat down nonchalantly at his table, her posture more one of a cocksure sell sword than a timid serving girl.

"Seems that I learned another thing. You are more changeable than a sea," he told her lightly.

"You know nothing, Jon." There were no words more true or more painful, but he did not feel like giving up.

"I can learn."

She looked at him thoughtfully. Jon could tell the exact moment she came to a decision. From some cleverly hidden pocked she took out a necklace. It was an exquisite work of woven silver and black pearls. Not even close to anything a serving girl should had upon her person.

"This will make it easier, a token kept from Braavos." She put it on and turned around. Suddenly there was a different girl standing in his room. She seemed to grow a few inches, her hair was straight black, woven in silver net, her face heart shaped, her eyes blue so dark it seemed almost purple and instead of white linen she was wearing dark black of choicest velvet and lace. Only the black pearl necklace did not change though now it nested lazily in deep cut between her young breasts. She was breathtakingly beautiful.

"My lord," she told him in unfamiliar voice with a heavy Braavosi accent. Even her gestures and the way she spoke changed.

"Who are you supposed to be now? " Jon asked. He had seen a spell like this already, yet he felt intrigued.

"Nara was her name, though mostly they had known her as the Dark Heart, she had been an apprentice of a most famous Braavosi courtesan. First time she had died she came to drink from the black pool in the House of Black and White. That had been more than three hundred years ago. It was the same year Aegon the Dragon was born. The second time she drowned on voyage to Westeros not a moonturn ago." Her elegant shoulders shrugged and black pearls between her breast moved slightly. Jon suspected that nothing in the move was coincidental. "All men must die. Does my lord want to sup with Nara or would he like his sweet Jeyne back?"

 _I want to sup with Arya Stark._ One mask or another, he was not interested in them, only in the girl underneath. But few wars were won in one battle.

"Nara would serve. For this one meal," he allowed and the dark-haired girl nodded solemnly.

The way she talked, even the way she breathed was unlike Jeyne. Yet underneath it all, he could feel the real Arya. He played along. They talked about Braavos, and about Jon's live _after,_ about history of Valyria and winters in the north. Somehow he ended up with her long fingers, Nara has longer fingers than Jeyne and not a trace of dirt behind her nails, in his calloused hands, and from there it was only a tiniest step before his self-control shattered and he leaned in and kissed her. Strange as it might be, Nara kissed same as Jeyne – perfectly, but it was not all he lusted after.

"Show me your real face. I let Ghost free." He whispered in breathless voice. They were the wrong words or maybe the right ones, because she stilled.

"No. Ask anything else please, Jon, but not this." Her voice become as desperate as he ever heard it.

"Why?"

"I told you."

"You told me a lot of things; not one seems like good enough reason to me. Do you want to live like Jeyne forever?"

She bit her lip. The gesture seemed odd on Nara's elegant face. She looked him straight in the eye for once not hiding her confusion, uncertainty and fear. "I haven't been Arya for so long. I don't know how to be just her."

Jon walked around the table slowly no to startle her and hugged her. "Arya," he whispered and gently kissed the top of her head, "you can't live like this forever. What do you mean to do in a moonturn or in a year?"

"I will leave or I will stay. I can be whoever suits you best." _Arya Stark would suit me best,_ he wanted to tell her, but it would be a lie. He might become a king but he was hardly a Targaryen to marry his own sister. Yet he would not let her pretend for the rest of her life.

"I might have to marry one day, Arya, as a king or as a lord, and I mean to be faithful to my wife. But there will be always place for you in my life." He knew so little, but Val had taught him value of love and loyalty.

Arya did not rage or argue. "One day, but until then we have time," she told him simply.

She tilted her face, he didn't even notice when she changes her looks but she was wearing Jeyne's likeness again. When she bit her lip it looked just as out of place on Jeyne's face as when she pretended to be Nara. For a long time she just looked at him thoughtfully. In the end she leaned forward and kissed him. He let go last pretenses about the nature of their relationship. _I will have her,_ he decided, _no matter the laws of men or gods._

It was so sweet, but Jon did not get to savor even the whole kiss. They had been too distracted to hear men coming but in that moment his door flew open in violent blow.

Behind it stood large group of people, at least twenty were soldiers, some might have been lords Jon noticed only three people in particular. One was old knight with a fish shaped brooch feasting his cloak, the other a tall young lady with a pretty face and cold expression, but it was the last one who unsettled Jon the most.

He was uncommonly short for a man grown though not a dwarf. His only weapons were a three pronged spear in his hand and a net on his hip. He gave Jon only a brief glance before his eyes settled firmly on Arya. Even though she wore Jeyne's face the man seemed utterly astonished by her presence. _He knows who she truly is,_ Jon understood. It was this thought, that forced him to recover from a shock and act.

"I will see you later," he told Arya and kissed her lightly in front of all of them.

"Yes m'lord," she mumbled eyes down. Nimbly she slipped between the lady and the old knight. One of the soldiers standing behind them tried to grab her arm, only to find himself pushed to the ground by a huge white shape. Ghost who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere held the man on his back with teeth bared inches from his neck until Arya safely left the corridor. Only then the wolf moved silently to Jon's side.

"Lady Sansa, Ser Brynden," Jon Snow greeted the intruders at last.


	6. Lady Sansa

Lady Sansa was seventeen and pretty, with thick auburn hair and sky-blue eyes. At the moment she wore an exquisite blue gown cut in an airy Vale fashion and an expression of flawless composure. If not for the fact that she seemed rather unbothered by the cold and a faint smell of direwolf long lost, Jon would have never believe that she was his kin. Or Arya's.

"I am sorry my great-uncle decided to solve matters this way," she spoke in calm, soft voice once they found themselves alone.

Jon did not believe a word of it. He remembered how she had lied to him two years ago. She had known that Arya Stark who had fled to Vale and died there had been a pretender. Some steward's daughter who had grown up in Winterfell. Yet everything Sansa's letters harbored were sweet words about kinship and lies. If not for Brandon's whispers he wouldn't know any better. It was not helping his moods that her men were outside behind the door. His… he felt the pressure in the fingers of his burned hand. Only the feel of his wolf's fur under them stopped him from clenching his hand tightly.

"How many of my men were killed?"

"Two. One was my man too. A Northman. It was necessary. I did not know what kind of welcome I could expect. In your last message before this invitation you claimed that you neither remember nor wish to ever renew our family bonds. Besides, I was afraid you might be under influence of the Tyrells."

"What about Tyrell men then?" He could let their old quarrel pass, though he would not easily forgive the manner of her arrival, but he needed the Tyrells just as much as her, if not more.

"I hold this tower, not this castle. Nothing happened to any Tyrell men, Baratheons or Lannisters."

"And most Northmen would not move against a trueborn Stark," Jon stated what both of them knew well.

"No," she agreed, "this is a personal matter between you and me. We must be united in this world or we won't prevail. Yet when I sent you an offer of allegiance you betrayed my trust and run to the Tyrells." Tears appeared in her blue eyes.

 _You betrayed me first,_ he thought. "How did we get along as children?" He asked her, his hand still touching Ghost. She glanced at the wolf.

"You truly don't remember?" This time the sadness in her voice sounded genuine. "I hoped you would recall at least something. Not even father, Robb or Arya? She would have been heartbroken."

"Was she somehow a special case?" Jon held his curiosity on a short lash, it would not do if she had heard it in his voice. He could not trust Sansa Stark, not even with her sister's secret.

"Yes, she was closer to you than anyone else and you to her."

 _She didn't tell me._ "What about you?"

"I have never hated you."

"And never loved me either," Jon finished the unsaid.

"No," she objected quickly, "I did, in a way. It took me many grievous mistakes to learn that, but I always did. I am not your enemy, Jon." She took of her velvet blue glove and scratched Ghost behind an ear. _Sister,_ he thought suddenly, _but the wrong one._

"I don't wish to be your enemy either, my lady, but you are making it hard. The first words you sent me are lies and when you come in person, you kill my guards, and try to take me a prisoner. Why?"

Defiance rose at her slightly powdered face. "It was just a little kind lie back then. It was better for all if you believed she died, than to forever try to chase after her ghost. And you are not a prisoner, but you don't have the control over me or North either." _Oh, I know I am no prisoner_ , he thought, but she was not entirely wrong about the North, he had to play this charade a little longer.

"Robb named me his heir." Jon reminded her.

"Only because he didn't know the whole truth," she answered sternly.

"Bran and Rickon were alive then, yes, but they are dead now. What does it change?"

"They are only names for you," She seemed shaken by his calmness. "Eddard Stark, Robb Stark, Bran Stark, Arya Stark, only names. I am the only one who remembers, the only one left." For the first time since this reunion started he felt sympathy for her. He reached for her hand with his burned one. She looked startled at his scarred fingers. _She hasn't seen my burns before. In the end she didn't take her hand away._

"Maybe you can tell me about those times one day."

"Maybe it will be better if I don't." He took a step back at her cold retort but she paid the gesture no attention. "Do you know about Daenerys' will too?" she asked instead.

"Yes, but don't ask me why she named me her heir. I don't have a faintest idea." That much was true. He had made some inquires to find out, but to no avail. All who had been close to the dragon queen were dead.

"I know why she chose you. Did you noticed the short man who accompanied me when I entered your chambers?" Of course he did, the man seemed to recognize Arya despite her glamor. _He looked like a crannogman,_ Jon thought and Sansa Stark confirmed it. "His name is Howland Reed. He was a trusted friend of my father and accompanied him for the whole time of Robert's rebellion. From Harrenhal Tourney to Dorne, where they killed three knights of the Kingsguard and found aunt Lyanna dying. Years later he met Queen Daenerys too. It was his words that made you her heir, but those words also forbid you from ruling the North. "She parted her speech with deliberate pause, but Jon remained silent. "You are not a son of Eddard Stark," she finished in the end.

Jon did not bother to answer to such an absurd lie.

"You look like my father, so no one has ever doubted his words when he claimed you as his natural child. Why else would he endure his wife's wrath and stain of his honor? Looking at you no one ever though that some woman tricked him into raising other man's child. You look so much like a Stark," Sansa continued.

"Yet you are telling me I am not." He spat out the words.

"No, Jon, I would never claim such a thing, you have Stark blood, only on the mother's side."

There had lived only one Stark woman in the time of his birth. Crowned in this very own castle queen of love and beauty almost a quarter century ago, by a man who later kidnapped and raped her - his father according to this story. And the crown prince of the realm. It felt all too contrived. "An interesting camp fire tale," Jon commented coldly.

"Lyanna Stark died in almost the same time you were born -"

"- which proves nothing!" Jon interrupted her. The fur on Ghosts back stood up, his teeth bared. If Sansa Stark noticed she showed no sign of fear.

"There must have been a child, why else would my father and Howland fight three knights of the Kingsguard?" She did not stop.

"Why would they fight him for a bastard?"

"Not a bastard." Sansa looked at him frustrated. "Don't you see? Targaryens didn't always take only one wife. You were trueborn and their king."

"Once again you brought to life a pretty lie and you are feeding it well, but don't expect me to join you."

"You think I am lying!?" She gasped disbelievingly.

"It would not be the first time," he reminded her.

"I would never... It was a kindness then, a little white lie. I wouldn't mislead you in this. You have truly changed, Jon. First the serving girl and now this. What would have my father thought if he could see you today?"

"Luckily, I don't have the faintest idea," he growled through gritted teeth. "But now, I ask you to leave my chamber. Take your men with you. The Wailing Tower is empty and habitable."

"You clearly did not grasp who commands here now!" she bristled. "This tower is held by my forces now. You left your armies in the North and took barely a hundred men here. The same mistake again from what I heard."

"In than you are wrong. I have enough men in the castle, Tyrells, Baratheons even the Lannisters they are all my allies in this. And we both know that whoever of us moves first will lose the North, they would not follow one who goes against his kin. That goes both ways. Your move, my lady." He could see her inner war reflected on her face. Her move had been unexpectedly bold, but there was small chance of the success if he refused to be intimated.

As he thought, in the end she broke. "I won't leave meekly with tail between my legs," she declared but there was not real force behind her words.

"You don't have to. We can pretend to be allies for now and we can become one in truth if you cease to assume you have some claim on me a stop feeding me lies."

"I see," she answered her mouth frowning, it made her look years older. "We will talk later after you had time to process the truth." With that she petted Ghost for the last time and left, her blue skirts rustling softly in her wake.

Sansa's men barely left the tower before he was rushing to the godswood Ghost shadowing his heels. Despite it being only three hours past noon, the sun was setting. It was a little foggy here where warm spring came to surface and though it froze after barely few feet the mist was enough to color the afternoon in a red haze. He knelt in front of the heart tree, Ghost loyally at his side.

 _Jon Targaryen_ the red leaves whispered.

"You too," Jon sighed. Where were the times when the gods had been silent?

It would be easy if he could firmly believe Sansa was lying but the more he thought about it, the more it sounded true. Yet could there truly have been a king hidden as a bastard and could it be he? He couldn't help to wonder what his old self would think about this. Would he feel a satisfaction that all the scorn he must have received as a bastard child was unjust, would he mourn the loss of the only father he had ever knew? _It doesn't matter, all of that is lost now._ What mattered was if he wanted to believe it, if the lords would believe and how he would use it. _And Arya…_ another voice whispered, _Arya matters too._

"I heard your talk with Lady Sansa didn't go well at all." Neither Ghost nor Jon noticed the man approaching. When Jon turned he came face to face with Howland Reed.

"It is rude to disturb a man when he is praying," Jon commented flatly.

"That could be. But we both know that you weren't praying." The man smiled. His accent was Northern yet very different from anything Jon had ever heard.

"Did Lady Sansa send you after me?" Jon wanted to know.

"No, I came myself. It should have been I who told you about your parents and the way you and Sansa reunited... This all was a huge mistake. I was not privy to plans Lady Sansa and Ser Brynden had made, I should have been more insistent, if I knew, I would have disagreed."

"It was mistake, but if you want to talk, you still have a chance." Jon forced his anger away. He could not abide seeing Sansa Stark just now, but it was easier to speak with Howland Reed.

"That is enough. I think that deep down you already sense the truth." Howland seated himself on trampled snow beside Jon. "It started in this very own castle as you probably already heard, what you may not know is that it started with me."

Jon frowned. He had read histories of Westeros both the oldest and the newest and sometimes he had to stop and ask himself if he could have met those people in person, but he read little and less about Howland Reed.

"I was a young man then, curious and unburned by mistakes and regrets of life," Howland Reed continued with a faraway look. "I took it upon myself to see the world, a wish rare among my people. As it happened there was a great tourney held here and I could not miss it. But however much I wished to see the whole world, the whole world did not wish to see me. As soon as I arrived I became a victim of three young squires. I was almost a lord then, past my twentieth name day they mere boys, but they were more numerous and better trained on a solid ground. Gods know what would have become of me if not for a lord's daughter seeing it."

"Lyanna Stark," Jon guessed.

"Lyanna Stark," Reed agreed his voice soft and sad.

"Did she call for help?" Jon could not see how that would lead to his supposed parents meeting.

To his surprise Reed laughed. "Oh no, she just happened to have a tourney sword by hand and disciplined the squires herself." Jon smiled too despite himself, but Howland's own merriment died. "Would that it be that it all ended then, but Lyanna decided that she wanted to punish my attackers further so she came up with a plan. She collected bits of armor that would suit her and secretly bought a horse to attend the tourney as a mystery knight."

"What was that supposed to serve?" Jon couldn't understand.

"She meant to defeat the knights whom the squires served in the tilt and she managed just that. When asked for her reward she asked for the knights to discipline their squires."

"How could she beat grown men? She was not even sixteen." _She had been sixteen when she died,_ Jon remembered suddenly. _Almost five years younger than I am now._

"No one ever said they were renowned jousters, she was an excellent rider and good enough with a lance in the end. But you are right, she was half a child, only four and ten then, a whole year younger that your cousin is now."

"Sansa is seventeen," Jon corrected him.

"I was not speaking about Sansa," the short man answered calmly. _He truly knows._ Jon had to fight not to show his discomfort on his face.

"I should have ended there but as soon as the king heard he grew anxious and declared that the knight will be doom of his house and had to die," Howland returned to his story. "Two knights wowed to arrest the mystery knight. Robert Baratheon and Richard Lonmouth, but Prince Rhaegar went too as a dutiful son should. It was him who found Lyanna."

Jon remembered how the story continued: "He didn't reveal her but rewarded her with blue roses."

"Yes, and then they didn't see each other for another year. Not before Prince Aegon was born. It was a hard birth and afterwards maesters told Rhaegar that his wife will bore him no more children, but the prince believed that dragon must have three heads as he read in prophecies."

"He kidnapped Lyanna Stark only because he needed a mother for his prophesied child?" Jon felt ill.

Howland shrugged. "Must there be only one reason? And did she go with him willingly only because she wanted to avoid marriage to Robert? I don't know, I doubt even they did. Either way, tragedy and war followed. Lord Rickard, Brandon, Prince Rhaegar, the King, Elia, your brother and sister, Rhaella, Gerold Hightower, Oswell Whent, Arthur… all of them died. In the end of the rebellion when it was certain the dragons had lost I and Ned found Lyanna in that tower in Dorne, dying. Before she drew her last breath she made Eddard promise to protect her new-born child. He fulfilled the promise for the rest of his life."

"You told this all to Daenerys, that is why she named me her heir." _The real wonder in this is that she believed you and did not try to burn me as her other supposed nephew,_ Jon thought.

Howland looked at him sadly. "All men are fools sometimes and I am but a man. I thought it might stop the war, it did not. She killed that feigned boy in the end at the cost of her own life."

"Daenerys wasn't the only one. Why Sansa?"

"Actually, Lady Sansa was the first. I had lost hope. It is your secret, Stark secret. I thought you were dead and there wasn't any other Stark to tell. Till today I believed that you and Sansa were the only one left." Jon's face remained impassive.

Howland sighed. "I always held the unmost respect and friendship for the Starks, Jon. I can never wish you harm. Or her. We should not be playing this game. I know that the girl wearing false face you were kissing is Arya Stark, a girl you until today thought to be your sister." It did not sound as an accusation, but Jon felt the need to defend his bond to Arya.

"I am sure you have heard, I remember nothing from our childhood."

"She does, though she tried to forget for a long time it would seem. From what I can tell from words unsaid."

"You spoke with her?" that surprised him. Most of all because he knew how hard it was to find Arya if she did not wish to be found.

"She is very good at hiding, I am even better at seeing past the obvious. I went after her almost right after she had left your chambers. She is sulking in the woods now, but I believe that she will return once she feels your distress. I told her everything I have just said to you and more."

"More?" What more there could possibly be left to say?

"You were too angry to listen, but Lady Sansa has a proposal for you. She wants to wed you."

Maybe he should not have been, but Jon was shocked. "Wed?! Why?!"

"Because you are the king in all but name, because the whole of Westeros knows Daenerys named you her heir, because Sansa wants the North and you are the key to everything that remains of it."

"Arya comes before both of us. Robb Stark stated so in his will."

"For most of the world Arya Stark is a girl dead and buried. And she is stubbornly fighting with teeth and nails to keep it so." Suddenly Howland seemed taken aback by his own words. He laughed though his eyes remained melancholy. "Oh, you two remind me of too many people I loved and lost."


	7. The Hunt

**_AN: Many thanks for all of the reviews. Sansa is there to stay, at least for now :)  
_**

 ** _JG: Sansa comes from "control or be controlled" standpoint. She was never especially close to Jon, and despite not meeting in person since he left for the Wall they managed to have a conflict, not to mention that she suspected that Tyrels could be manipulating Jon. She did not know what kind of situation she was entering so instead of hoping for the best she risked and decided for a rather radical approach. It didn't work, Jon had too much control, but by Northmen it was of course meant lords. No one is going to care for one killed guard._**

 ** _honoo: Sansa is going to be an obstacle, but probably not in a way you seem to suspect._ **

* * *

Night had fallen by the time Jon returned to his chambers. His own guards were at the door again. Marw was the one to tell him that Sansa's men had killed Neil.

Jon's mood was dark but his chambers were clean and there was half of roosted rabbit waiting for him. Arya had likely hunted it down herself, but aside from her smell still lingering faintly in the air of girl herself there was no trace. He read a letters, two were from the North one was written in Willas Tyrells' own hand. Jon sent the reply promptly.

That night he slept alone. His dreams were pleasant, he was running in Ghost's skin and both Arya and Nymeria were hunting with him, but he was woken way before sunrise by a loud talk right in front of his chamber.

"You should know that unlike some people I have much more finesse than to start butchering guards," Lady Olenna's voice was unmistakable.

Jon got up and opened the door. On the other side he found the lady held by Marw. Behind stood Lugs.

"Let her in," he told his guards and stepped aside to allow her enter and then turned to his men. "You were supposed to stand at the entrance of the corridor. How did she go so far?"

"She distracted us, my lord," Marw answered. From behind him Jon could hear laugher.

"She had a girl with her. Sally started to talk and then old lady sneaked behind." Marw seemed nervous but Jon had never seen Lugs being taken out of balance by anything, despite being barely higher than Howland Reed.

"And before you knew what was happening she was at my door. Never let that happen again," Jon answered and returned inside. His guards had been too lax.

Lady Olenna had made herself already comfortable. She was unceremoniously nibbling at remains of his own dinner.

"Are your supplies so thin, my lady? I saw you bringing many wagons of food and I thought that you has at least dozen famous cooks at your disposal." Jon raised his eyebrow.

"Food I brought such as it is," she agreed, "but the cooks I sent away ages ago. Without all their costly spices they don't know how to cook rat's arse. I have a woman from Flea Bottom. Bessa knows how to make kings fare from almost anything and manages it while washing clothes with the other hand, I suspect. But this is sinfully delicious even cold. Wild rabbit, wild roots, herbs I cannot even name. I did not take you for a man with such opulent tastes."

"It was a gift from Jeyne," Jon confessed.

Lady Olenna frowned. "You are either very cruel or a fool. She must be mad with love for you. Why else would an underfed girl risks her own life in woods to bring a pampered high lord more food? Where is she even now?"

"She was very disturbed by her meeting with Lady Sansa. She preferred not to share my bed tonight." At least the second part was true. He could only hope their separation wouldn't become habit. All it took was one night to make him miss Arya in his bed, even if all they did was talk and share the heat.

"I can imagine that meeting someone while playing what fits where with her future husband does not make for a dashing first impression. Speaking of Lady Sansa, to my own great surprise she had paid me a visit. I suppose that for her scheme to work you can't remain her brother. She had to convince other people. She told me a fancy tale about secret Targaryen king her father had raised as his own bastard son."

 _So this is about that._ "I take it that you don't believe a word she said," Jon answered lightly.

Lady Olenna did not laugh or made a rude jest as he expected, she only shook her head almost solemnly. "It is too unbelievable not to be true. In truth, I had thought you reminded me of Rhaegar. Now I know why. Once she told me I could not remain blind any longer. I only came to find out what do you believe. That and bargain for betrothal of your and Willas' future children."

Jon signed." I don't know what she had told you but I didn't say yes."

"Yet. Your claim to Iron Throne may have strengthened considerably, but these old secrets done nothing to help you gain the North and we both know that is only direction you will ride from this castle. First necessary stop is between Lady Sansa's legs."

"If you are so unhappy with our possible marriage send Willas to court her," Jon offered. He doubted that it would lead to anything, but he did not feel comfortable with Sansa entirely focused on himself, especially with Arya around.

Lady Olenna made a face. "Well I suppose that have her for a good daughter is better than have her for a queen. Neither is good, though. I shall leave now. Sweet dreams, boy, you will need them. On the morrow you will break your feast with me and Sansa both."

Jon's answers during morning feast were curt at best. Princess Myrcella looked even more fearful and shy than usually and Princess Shireen carefully considered her every word watching them all with wary eyes. Yet lady Sansa and Lady Olenna made for a room full of people chatting as old dear friends. Massey and Marbrand not entirely aware of what was happening joined them from time to time. Jon watched Sansa pulling information from them in front of his eyes. From the men present only Willas was more silent then Jon.

"We were betrothed once," Lady Sansa turned to Willas at one moment, "but it seen that fate would not have it."

"I don't think that you reminiscent it truly as fondly as you claim, my lady," Willas commented mildly. It did not seem as if the Tyrells followed his half - hearted suggestion to court Sansa.

"Oh, if I didn't understand what a great match it have been back then it was only because I was a foolish little girl. I would be honored if we could finally join our hoses, but it may be that my duty lies elsewhere. "She looked pointedly and Jon.

"Have you found a husband for your sister, my lord?" Willas Tyrell asked with genuine interest.

 _He doesn't know yet._ Strange that Sansa would go to Lady Olenna but not to the actual liege of Reach, though Jon. "No I deny having any right to make decision about lady Sansa's future. She is the ruling lady of Vale I believe in her wisdom when it comes to her own future."

Sansa gave him a modest smile which did not reach her eyes. He made it clear that he did not propose a marriage himself. That did not suit her. "Thank you, but I could do with an advice from dear kin. Despite risking of being improper I wish to invite you to a private meal. I would be delighted if you shared lunch with me in today."

"My lady, I am afraid that I already made plans I cannot postpone. I promised to join Lord Willas on a hunt," Jon answered calmly.

"The horses are already saddled and bridled and hounds stirred. We are just about to depart." Willas Tyrell added, "It may be that we won't return till shortly before dusk."

"Tomorrow then," Sansa tried again.

"Tomorrow," Jon agreed. It would not do to avoid her for too long.

The horses were indeed saddled and bridled. The hounds started to bark as mad when they caught scent of Ghost, though they would not dare to come any closer than twenty feet. Aside from Jon and Willas there were almost twenty other men. Justin Massey and two more Baratheon knights joined with them. Willas had knights and lordlings from Reach and even a squire for himself. Lyra Mormont decided to join from Jon's Northmen. The rest were kennel masters, squires and men at arms.

Despite his lame leg, Willas Tyrell proven himself to be an amiable rider. Soon he, his squire, Jon and Jon's guards found themselves separated from the main group. Jon send his guards away and Willas turned to his squire: "Janos, you can join the rest. I am not much of a hunter and Lord's Snow wolf would scare the game away in any case."

"But Willas, I am your squire I have to be near you," the boy protested with innocent rigor of the youth.

"And I am not much of a knight. Go, I promise no harm will be done. There is not much more I can teach you in any case. I think I should be speaking with Ser Otto soon. It is time you served under true warrior." The boy's face visibly lit up at Willas' words but then he hesitated as if he sensed that his rapture could have offered his lord. However, Willas only smiled kindly and with a bright face the boy rode away.

Once he was gone Jon slowed his horse so they could hear each other better.

"Before we departed my grandmother gave me the sternest lecture I have received since I was five and decided to badge our hunting dogs with my aunt's jewels," Willas spoke in unhurried manner.

"What was your offence this time?" Jon asked. Nearby Ghost found an elk trail and run of to follow it.

"Ignorance."

"She told you about our night meeting," Jon concluded.

"Yes." Willas Tyrell looked at him thoughtfully. "Your life is very strange. Does it even surprises you any more when someone comes to you and tells you that you are a lost king?"

"Not much. I politely answer than this is interesting tale but nothing compared to what the man before have to tell. And it comes to bite me in the ass because both of it of course turns out to be truth."

Willas laughed a throaty laugh Jon would have never guessed him capable of. "You are a strange one. Do you mean to marry lady Sansa now?" The Lord of Highgarden asked when he was finally able to catch his breath.

"I wouldn't rule it out for a moment, but I wouldn't give my word either. The threat from the North is no campfire tale, the kingdom needs to be unified." Jon was sure of that with his whole being.

"Westeros need to fight together," Willas agreed." But do you believe just as strongly that you have to be a king?"

Jon looked at him thoughtfully. He called this council because he knew that it was the only way to reunite the kingdom quickly, but he had waved the possibility of kingship in front of lords as ladies as if it was a carrot on a stick put before a mule. He did not let it truly come within their reach. Maybe it was time to do so. "Willas, if you hesitated about your claim, don't. I don't know for sure how this all would end, but if we are given choices of our future ruler, you should be one of them."

Though neither Jon nor Willas caught anything the hunt was indeed successful. Massey came with a deer, one of squires with a fox and Lyra Mormont caught an aurochs. But they wandered too far. It was dusk before they even saw Harrenhal, large as it was. They had a more than hour long ride ahead of them to reach it.

"It's getting bloody cold," Jon heard one of the men told to his companions. Suddenly he had a very bad feeling. Instinctively he reached for Ghost. The wolf was far away but he could sense it too. The faint smell of cold. _No, it does not make sense, they never before crossed the Neck. Still…_

"FORM A CLOSER COLUMN AND FIRE THE TORCHES!" he shouted. Men around him looked at him strangely but obeyed. Deepest forest lied ahead of them. As soon as they passed the first trees the mood changed immediately. They did not understand, but they could feel it too. All men became somber and on some faces he could clearly see fear. Yet nothing bad happened until they were almost inside.

The guards at the East gate raised a monstrous portcullis and half of their convoy was already in, when they heard agonized scream from behind.

"Janos is still out there!" Willas turned his horse in an instant and galloped to the noise before Jon could stop him.

"RIDE INSIDE, QUICKLY!" Jon shouted at the rest of the men. "I will go for them, close the gates and triple the men on walls. Open only to those who hold a burning torch!" He called at guards. Only when heavy iron bars bared the gate did he turn his horse to ride. He could feel the stallion's mad fear, but he forced his own will upon the animal.

He found Willas soon. He would never tell it to him, but like a beast Jon had followed the smell of blood. The scene which greeted him was horror and gore. Blood and small pieces of flesh and bone laid everyone. Among them Jon glimpsed scraps of bloodied green cloak. Jon's own horse was soon killed too, its belly being torn by frozen hands, but he got down in time. Willas Tyrells mercifully still lived hobbling desperately at his lame leg dead boy's sword in hand while two wights were attacking him. Jon did not wait and hurled himself on wights with his torch. He took out two but the third snatched the torch from his hand.

 _We will both die here_ , Jon though, but he unsheathed his sword anyway. He didn't even reach the first wight it before it was torn apart by a gigantic grey wolf. Suddenly, here were wolves all around them but the wights were numerous too. There were at least thirty of them.

In the middle of it all appeared a rider and started to fire burning arrows at the wights. It was Arya. "You need to get him on the horse!" she called. Her other horse, Jon noticed, she had two of them.

In that moment Willas collapsed with heavy thud on the snow. With a strength fueled by rage Jon lifted the older man and unceremoniously threw him on a horse like a sack of onions. He mounted quickly too and together they run for the gate.

"The torch!" he called when they were at gates.

Arya took all the arrows that reminded to her and set them on fire. And so they let them in.

That night the whole castle stayed awake. Jon's men, Northmen, Baratheons, Tyrells, even Lady Sansa's forces and Lannisters. All watched from behind battlements with fear. Dozens of wights tried to scale the walls only to be set afire. Though the large group Jon had sighted didn't reappear in sight. In the woods he heard wolves howling furiously. Ghost was outside too, tearing the cold dead flash, but there were too many and even with Nymeria's pack, it was no equal battle. In the castle ladies waited as Willas Tyrell fought his injuries.


	8. Proposal

At the first light Jon sent a raven to warn Trystane Martell and instruct him how to protect his column during nights. From the rookery he went to walls and to The Ghost tower to ask about Willas and to walls again. It was two hours after dawn when Jon found himself in stables. He sat on a heap of straw just to rest for a moment and woke up hours later more rested than he expected. His armor was neatly folded on a pile nearby, Ghost was nestled against his back and to his right he could feel another smaller form. Arya must have snatched a blanket from somewhere because both of them were covered. She was awake and there was unconcealed grief on her face. He kissed her gently.

"My wolves, they are dead, I lead them to death. A third of the pack is gone," she spoke. That night they lost only Willas' squire, but there had been other nights and other fights. He knew how it felt sending his own men to death. Jon hugged her tightly and she snuggled against him." I will miss this when you marry Sansa." She confessed.

"Then I will never marry her." He did not want to live a life without the girl in his arms again. He could not see any reason why he should.

She smacked him and frowned. "Don't be stupid. You have to marry a highborn lady if you want to be a king. If not Sansa than Shireen."

"Arya Stark is highborn too," he reminded her lightly.

"Arya Stark is dead."

"Or so she repeatedly tells me." In the world where dead walked the jest came out stillborn. "I won't let you go, Arya. I don't have to."

He sensed what she was about do so he tightened his grip before she could run away. She squirmed and somehow managed to get hold of her knife. Before he knew it there was steel against his neck.

"This reminds me of our first meeting," he smiled. "But there is one detail you have forgotten this time." Ghost was on her in an instant. And while she was quicker and more nimble than Jon, she was no match for the direwolf. With the help of Ghost, Jon disarmed her. Once her knife was safely away he gave her a deep kiss. Her response was as eager as ever and soon his mouth was mowing down to her neck and his hand ventured under her smallclothes. When they finally parted Jon was flushed and hard. He stopped and frowned.

"Do you think that I am anything like Rhaegar Targaryen?" he asked suddenly. With all that was happening he had so little time to think about it. It did not seem so important if he was a son of one man he could not recall or another. But maybe he was more like the Dragon Prince than he had thought, when it came to weakness for Stark women.

"I can't know if you are anything like him, I never met him. I don't care much," Arya answered playing with laces on his breeches.

"Does that I am a Targaryen's son change anything for you," he asked again.

She looked at him almost surprised. "No, I kissed you even when I thought you were my brother."

"It changes some things for me. I can marry you now. I will marry you. I can make Sansa agree, if you wish."

"I won't marry you. I can't be a queen. I can't even be Arya again." For the first time since they met he felt that she was afraid.

He touched her face gently. "Don't let the fear rule you." This time he didn't try to stop her when she fled him, he knew she would be back.

There were more guards in front of Willas' door than Jon's. When he asked for permission to enter it was granted by Willas himself. The chamber was spacious and bright and there was some new furniture brought from Highgarden. On a bench under the window sat Shireen and Myrcella with their embroidery. Lady Olenna had an armchair put near Willas' bed and was holding his hand.

"Jon," the Lord of the Highgarden greeted him, "don't even try to pity me, I am quite skilled in laying injured in bed."

"Not something we share. They declared me dead the last time I tried." Even looking at Willas, Jon could almost see Lady Olenna raising her white eyebrows at their familiarity.

"Grandmother, why don't you accompany the princesses to take some refreshment?" Willas suggested. "I promise not to run away in the mean time."

"Don't you dare move from that bed," Lady Olenna retorted, but she stood up slowly and went with the girls. Princess Shireen offered her arm.

Jon waited for a long time, enough for Lady Olenna to stop eavesdropping behind the door before he spoke: "How are you, truly?"

"The... the thing injured my bad leg. It will take weeks before it entirely heals, but it's not like I am not used to moving around with a cane. Some of my fingers on both hands were broken, that will need healing too. I will need someone to write letters for me. I can barely scratch five words before pain starts to bother me. "

"I know an acolyte in Oldtown, we used to be friends before. I am not sure he is still a friend to the man I am now, but I trust him. I can call for him."

"You should if he is good healer, but not for a trifle like this. Princess Shireen offered herself and I did not have a heart to refuse her."

Jon was surprised. Shireen was a good girl, but not entirely innocent in politics, as her proposal had shown, Jon couldn't believe this offer came just from her generosity. "Is that wise? She is a kind girl but she also has her own interests in this council." Jon wondered what would Willas think, if he knew about their secret meeting in rookery.

"I am no fool Jon, I know how this game is played, but if there is anyone who would be able to harm me, it would be you not she. It is neither fear of betrayal nor my injuries which bother me in truth, it's guilt. Every time I close my eyes I see Janos being torn apart by those monsters. Every odd hour I have to turn around because I hear his screams. He was just a boy and my squire, I should have protected him. I failed him and I would have failed the rest as well if not for you and Jeyne." Willas went silent. When he finally spoke his words shocked Jon.

"Jeyne killed Trant, I am sure of it. Shireen heard a girl. I didn't believe any woman would be able to, not in such fashion, but Jeyne yesterday… She did not fear the wolves, she did not fear the wights."

"She was afraid for me, anyone -" Jon started but Willas was having none of it.

"You would have had me there, yes, anyone would go above himself to save someone he loves, but to be so skillful and coldblooded about it, that's a different matter. Don't lie to me, Jon. For any trust or friendship that ever might be between us, don't lie to me. I know she did it, the question is, did you know?"

Jon pondered if he could tell Willas anything. In the end he decided that if there was one person whose trust and friendship he wanted it was Willas Tyrell. He could only hope Arya that would understand. "From the first moment we met. On the night Trant was killed she sneaked into my chamber in the middle of the night despite all my guards, she even knew to have Ghost locked in the Godswood. I woke upon a feeling of a knife on my neck. We fought for a moment, but it quickly become clear that she did not truly wish to harm me. We talked and then she fled. Despite darkness in my chamber, when I met her in the dining hall next day I knew it was her in an instant."

"You knowingly took an assassin to bed? You truly are mad enough to be a Targaryen." Willas shook his head disbelievingly. He went quiet and seemed to consider his words carefully before he spoke. "My grandmother thinks that Trant's killer was paid by Sansa. No one tried to harm Myrcella since, so the target could have been Trant himself after all. Lady Sansa wanted him dead for something that happened in King's Landing. She would have him killed, only your Jeyne was quicker. But what if she wasn't, what if she served and still serves Lady Arryn? I know Sansa is your kin, but you shouldn't trust her. If Jeyne -"

"She doesn't serve Sansa," Jon interrupted him.

"Or you are a fool. But if they are not allies, it's even worse. If Jeyne cares for you how can you be sure they won't harm each other? Women had killed and done even worse out of jealousy."

"How can't I be sure anyone won't kill each other in this cursed castle, Willas? Do you think that I am just a young boy who has miraculously learned he is a king, like in a tale? Do you think Lady Olenna is a sweet jolly Granny you knew as a little boy, did you mistook Lady Sansa for a helpless woman? No, I think not. This is a den of beasts, but we have to work together or the winter will claim us all."

"Winter is coming," Willas whispered. "Tell Jeyne that."

The words sounded familiar, but it took Jon a moment to remember that those were the Stark words. He had to laugh at the irony. "You know Willas, you are a very clever man, often unintentionally. I think I will."

Jon asked of Marbrand, Massey and Blackfish to summon their lords, prominent knights and captains in the small hall to discuss the strategy for the next day. Willas Tyrell was forced to remain in his bed though a lot of the Reachmen came too. Jon led the meeting from the beginning to the end and barely anyone opposed him. Only the Blackfish went to heated discussion with him. Brynden Tully clearly did not like Jon, yet his ideas were wise and from time to time Jon found himself admiring the man.

It was late by the time they ended and Jon found his way to his chamber. Same as day before, he was greeted by warm dinner and mulled wine, but no trace of Arya herself.

Jon was almost through his letters and halfway through his dinner when he heard someone approaching.

"Sansa Stark wants to enter," Briar called. Jon allowed his cousin in.

Sansa was alone. For once she wore her hair untied aside of two small braids beginning at her temples and even her gown was simple of beige fabric lined with fur. He found the look more appealing than sophisticated Arryn dresses. Dimly, he wondered if she knew.

"We didn't reunite on a good terms. I would like to make amends," Sansa Stark spoke looking around his stark chamber thoughtfully, "We are no enemies and I want to be more than that. We are kin Jon, both Starks by blood if not by name, both Northmen. We should keep together in winter."

"Words are wind," Jon reminded her in a distant voice.

"Even oaths?" she asked softly.

"Who knows," that was a bitter subject for him, "does an oath bind, if a man doesn't remember it, does it binds if others forbid you to do so?"

She put her soft hand on his arm. "You misunderstood my meaning. I was not talking about past, I was talking about the future. I wish for us to wed."

"And the fact that the whole castle knows that I am fucking my own cupbearer does not disturb you at all?" he asked rudely. He had known about the proposal beforehand from Howland Reed, but it still rubbed him the wrong way. He needed Sansa, but hopefully not that much.

Her eyes hardened. "Do you think Harry was faithful to me? He fathered five bastards during our marriage and we were hardly wed for two years. Or Tyrion, who made his whore my own handmaiden? They cared nothing for what I felt. Only Joffrey did. He liked to watch me suffer. I don't believe that you can be worse than any of them."

Jon did not answer. Their marriage would be a struggle, their natures clashed too much and there was no passion to smooth the union, but she was right, he did not wish her harm.

"I wonder if it's just me," Sansa mussed, "Or if Arya had lived you would refuse her too. You two were always so close. I can't image you putting any woman before her, not even your lover. Though, of course, it's hard to imagine Arya agreeing to marriage."

"What was she like?" Arya seldom spoke about the past and Jon found himself interested to hear what he could. It might be that Sansa was the only one left of those who remembered Arya as a child.

"She was half a wildling and half a wolf," Sansa answered, but her words were softened by longing in her voice, "She came around dressed as boy with scratched knees, mussed hair and torn clothes. She despised to do anything ladylike and hated songs and dresses, but she liked flowers."

 _I wonder if she still does._ "You must have made for an interesting picture. Two auburn haired girls, but one a perfect lady," he could not imagine Sansa ever being anything else, "and the other a little ragged beast."

"No," Sansa shook her head disquieted by his words, "she didn't look like me, she looked like father and you."


	9. Men, Wights, and Wolves

Jon woke up stiff, tired, and cold. He had let Sansa stay longer than he expected. They had talked for a long time a when she was leaving, Sansa kissed him on lips, but he did not return it. It was a lukewarm occurrence, stark contrast to what he shared with her sister. Sansa herself seemed eager only on the surface. He wondered if in some corner of her mind she still considered him to be her brother, albeit a distant one. Yet he knew that even if it was true, it would not stop her pursuit. Lust had little to do with her interest in him.

While he was dealing with his kin, men at walls were facing the dead. Wights were spotted repeatedly during that night, but they did not attack in force and Jon's sleep was left undisturbed. He did not have a wolf dream. Instead he dreamed of a young woman with grey eyes, dark hair, and long face. It was Arya, he knew, but awake he could not recall her face no matter how much he tried. He could not linger much upon it, though. Today, men in Harrenhal had to face a large and ungrateful task.

Hally had prepared clothes for him and gave them to him without a word. She still could not abide that he took Jeyne to his bed, Jon knew. Marw helped to don him his armor. His weapons he prepared himself.

Jon didn't think he would see Arya before leaving, but to his surprise and joy he sensed her presence in the yard when he was about mount his new horse. He turned and she stood right there in one of her better clothes seemingly undisturbed by the chaos surrounding them. There were men all around them watching so he took her to the side. They would not be alone, but if lord wanted to kiss his lowborn lover before going to the battle, he should make at least half-hearted attempt of decency.

He kissed her deeply.

"You should grope my ass or put a hand down my bodice, otherwise they will start to think that you love me. High lords should never love common wenches who warm their beds," Arya told him almost playfully.

"You are much more than just a serving girl and I do love you. I guess that some truths should remain hidden. And," he looked at her pointedly "I am definitely not going to put my hand down your bodice. Some actions have consequences and some consequences are horridly uncomfortable for a man in full armor."

Her laugher broke free and she kissed him full on the lips, touching their tongues. "I would go with you, but Sansa is watching me closely," she whispered once they broke apart.

He bent and gently nibbled her ear. "So is Willas, he knows you killed Trant. Did you thought about what I said yesterday? I want to marry you, but I can't do that while you pretend to be someone else." Arya cast her eyes to the ground and bit her lip uncertain, but at least she was not running away. Jon kissed her ear again. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a Vale knight watching them with open interest, but the man was way too far to hear their words and Jon had learned early that the most dangerous looks were those unnoticed. "We have a bargain, if you remember. Your wolf wants my wolf and I want you. But the other people are insistent too. Sansa kissed me yesterday, I don't think she will give up without good reason," he confessed. The noise from the men around the yard was growing on intensity, their time was coming short.

"You are mine till you marry!" Arya bristled and straightened to stare at him.

Jon could not keep a grin off his face. "I mean to be yours always."

"Are you trying to make me jealous?" There was no doubt that she was truly cross with him, but in that moment he did not regret it. She cared.

"Is it working?" he asked hopefully.

She growled but Jon laughed heartily and spun her around in his arms, not caring who was watching.

"Stay safe, stupid," She said to him once he put her down.

They departed hour after sunrise. Almost a thousand men under more than thirty captains. All were armed, but their swords were not half as important as the fire they were bringing. Jon called all his guards, this was more important that guarding his empty chamber. Willow and Briar rode closest to him. Despite their names, only Briar was a woman. Willow was named out of jape in the fighting pits of the Flea Bottom. He was near six feet tall, with thick neck and square jaw. As was his custom he compared guesses about how long would the men riding by last if they had to fight stark naked with bare hands. By far the most time was given to Lyle Crakehall. Jon didn't even much doubt Willow's guess, though he knew that the trick would be to get Lyle out of his armor and away from his sword.

They did not ride long. Some men did not ride at all, starting their search under Harrenhal's enormous walls. They all were all looking for the same thing - wights hiding under snow. Whatever dark magic keep dead walking, it didn't work during the daylight. This was the best time to deal with them. Signals of many horn sounded through the forest almost without a pause. Though the black, foul-smelling smoke rising to a sky was a signal of its own. It was an ungrateful task, and Jon had to repeat to himself that it was not entirely futile. _It's the Others I need to kill, not the wights._ Nevertheless, by the time they stopped for the late lunch more than seventy wights were burned.

"Too slow," Briar told him in her crude Common tongue, "could be more under snow. Many more."

Jon knew she was not wrong. "It will keep walls clean for at least some time and those Southerners will learn what they are dealing with."

The spearwife snorted "Wights at day. They know nothing."

The day had well progressed by the time Damien rode to them. He looked just as unsatisfied as Briar had been. "Filthy creatures, this is work for silent sisters, not warriors."

"How are the men faring?" Jon asked.

Damien shrugged. "Freezing, tired, and bored to death but otherwise well. Aside from one lordling who broke his horse's leg and then some bones of his own. The fool took a sand steed to a snow."

Jon nodded and looked at the sky. Dark clouds promised heavy snowing and two thirds of daylight had already passed. He noted for Willow to sound for return. One by one the answers came, Lord Royce was the first and Damien last as they should have been, but two answers were missing. Only after a noticeable pause a signal of Piper followed by two long blast - men missing and then one short sound. In the moment Fossoways of red apple answered from almost same direction, again two men missing. Jon ordered Willow to sound another set of signal sending most men back into the castle and went to the last two groups.

They found Fossoway and Piper together. Marq Piper looked annoyed, Jon Fossoway distressed. By the time they reached them it was already snowing heavily.

"We must have lost them when we were searching the abandoned village." Fossoway informed Jon.

"I did not hear the signal." Jon was bloody sure of that. "Who is missing?"

"Cousin of Fossoway's cousin Paxter Fossoway, his squire Lyonel Bullwer and one of my men at arms, Raym."

"Leave me two reliable men, both of you. Half of my own men will return with you." Jon turned to his guard, "Willow, you too, Damien will take your duty. We will return before dusk no matter if we find them or not." Marq got a look when he heard the name of Jon's guard, but Willow's look of an especially cunning mad dog stopped him from commenting on it.

Once the things were settled, Jon took off his glove and whistled to call Ghost. He did not need the sound now, but that was not something he wanted others to know. Ghost appeared in an instant silent as ever, but Nymeria called too. Long strong howl. Jon smiled secretly to hear it. Arya was here in a way.

Damien rode close to him. "The wolves are not far. There must be hundreds of them. I thought that it was your beast they feared, but then I remembered hearing them the night wights went for Tyrell's squire. Do you control them?"

Jon looked at him sharply, of all of his men Damien was the most perceptive and least loyal, but there was no way to avoid the answer. "No. They are led by a she-wolf, but she doesn't want to hurt me or ghost."

Damien grinned, adding rest in his head. _Luckily, you don't know half of it,_ Jon thought.

The remains of the abandoned village were not far, nevertheless, by the time they reached it the snow was falling so heavily that Jon could not see further than sixty feet.

Suddenly a light flashed through the sky and moment later they could hear a thunder.

"Lightning in winter, what unholy weather is this?" one of Fossoway men asked startled.

"It happens sometimes around the lake, I was told," Jon assured him, though he had not seen it himself yet. "Either way, the sooner we are from here, the better." He was far from sure they had found all the wights and dusk was quickly approaching.

The village was not large. Jon counted barely twenty houses right at the bank of the God's Eye, though it was harder to tell in this weather. Some houses were burned to the ground, some had walls still standing, later Jon even glimpsed one with a roof.

"There were rings of fresh fireplaces around the place," one Piper man told him.

"Someone lived there, they probably only fled recently. Maybe because of wights, maybe because they could hear us, or maybe they are still there." Ghost could smell fresh stink of man, horse, and steel, but it was impossible to tell if it were men of Jon's own column. The wolf did not know every man in the castle by the smell. Although… There was one distinctively different smell too. There had been women here, not long ago. Jon counted five by what Ghost smelled. Aside of Briar, only other woman to ride from Harrenhal had been Lyra Mormont and she had been in the opposite side of the castle.

"Stay here," Jon told the men, "if you do not see me in an hour, ride quickly for the castle."

He took only Damien, Briar and three of his own men for this. They would need to be quiet. Jon left the rest of the horses with the men and followed Ghost on foot. Luckily they did not need to go far. Not even half a mile away he glimpsed a shelter trough the falling snow. Ghost could hear the people inside. Jon gestured for his men to be careful and follow him.

Ghost was the first one to enter the large cove which someone had dug under roots of a fallen pine and Jon made a good use of wolfs' senses. Most of the men inside were armed and those descended on Jon before he had time to tell anything. Seasoned warriors he knew. Three who hadn't had armor he killed quickly. With Ghost's help he did for the other two too. In the corner of eye he saw Damien killing a half-naked man who had been raping one of the women, he heard Briar's war cry, signaling she killed a foe, but he thought that he heard one of his men hitting ground.

The next man to attack him was a Dothraki. He was unarmored too, but in the hole in which they were fighting, his arakh moved much more freely than Jon's sword. Jon was searching for a weakness in man's defense when suddenly a strong blow hit him in the left side of his helm and his vision went black…

He attacked the man who was endangering his body on the ground. He killed two more before he could go for a man with rock on chain. Soon the rest of the pack was done too. They left only females and a bound man. One female was weeping, the bound man wept too. The pack took care of his human body, laying it on bed made from branches they drag behind them. He feasted on the two of the slain, the rest was set afire.

The silent wolf followed them while his sister was shadowing his steps, distraught. Only when his human body reached the man's lair did the she-wolf calm. The silent wolf did not enter the place even though the men called him. His sister's heat was almost at its ends. There was so little time left, but tonight the voice holding him back could be barely heard at all, weak and fading. He ran to her.


	10. Rest

He felt as if he had drunk all the mead that remained in Harrenhal. His eyes seemed to open only with difficulty and once they did it took him unusually long to focus. It was day, though not a bright one and he was in his own chamber. In a chair next to his bed he glimpsed Lady Sansa bent to her embroidery and on the window silk sat Arya watching the world outside. She smiled faintly and turned her face when she felt him watching. Jon tried to sit up and in that moment Sansa noticed him too.

"Stay lying," she reproached him. With the way his head hurt even after a slightest move he did not try to protest.

"What day it is?" he asked. He had hard time recognizing his own voice so hoarse it sounded.

Sansa regarded him thoughtfully. Instead of answering she asked: "How much do you remember?"

"Wight hunt, Piper and Fossoway men missing, an abandoned village, following a trail, not much afterwards." _Wolves coupling in snow._

"You got hit to the helmet by a morningstar. It's the next day, two hours after the sunrise. You woke up few times yesterday, but you were very confused and then you fell asleep quickly. The maester thinks you should recover given time."

 _Great, another lost memories_. Still a few hours were better than seventeen years. "How did the fight end, and who did we fight anyway? Wights?" That didn't make much sense, it occurred to him, Ghost had felt living people.

"Brave Companions. They are all dead. So are men you were searching for. Your captain brought five women and the one man that survived with them. My maids are taking care of them, poor things."

"Which…" She didn't let him finish.

"You should rest, we can talk later."

"She is right for once," Arya spoke finally. Sansa gave her a hard look at those daring and disrespectful words. As far as she knew, Arya was Jeyne, a mere girl from kitchens; she was supposed to be also Jon's paramour though, so Lady Arryn did not dare to put her in her place in front of him. Jon wondered if the argument between the girls would be milder or more heated if Sansa knew that his lover was in fact her long lost sister. Somehow, he did not think they get along smoothly as children. Either way, he knew whose presence he preferred.

"Just as well, I will rest. Leave us alone, Lady Sansa."

Sansa measured them both with a stern look, but in the end she did not argue. "Rest," she reminded him and stood up, her rich skirts rustling softly.

Once the door was closed Arya hopped from the window in one smooth motion and sneaked under his covers. "Rest," she repeated in flawless imitation of Sansa's voice, "by which she means that we should not fuck."

"We don't fuck anyway," Jon grumbled, his head hurt too much to be anything but honest.

It made Arya laugh. "You are in no state to be doing anything but lying in bed and looking like hell. At least in the man's body."

"You know about Ghost."

"Of course I do." She looked neither concerned nor happy. Jon knew that her mission in Harrenhal was fulfilled, but she was still here. They walked long enough road together, she would abandon him now. That wave of gratitude spread through him like a heat of fresh-lit fire.

"I lost control of him yesterday. I would say I am sorry, but you wanted it from the beginning," Jon told her, closing his eyes for a moment. It was a chore to stay awake.

He felt Arya's touch on his face. Gently she put away a lock of his hair. "I did, and now the deed is done."

"And the deed is done," Jon agreed, he forced his eyes to open, he did not want to fell sleep again. "Ghost won't allow Nymeria to have another mate."

Arya shrugged unconcerned. "She wouldn't anyways. She is thinking of the pups now. The white ones will be a pain in ass to find in snow once they start to wander. And she wants at least one as silent as Ghost."

Jon had to smile at that. "What about you? Have you ever thought about children?"

"Me?" She looked at him as if he told her that he wanted to get rich by planting blood oranges on Skaggos. "Never. If I stayed in the House of Black and White any longer I wouldn't even be able to have children. I didn't leave because of that, but I still don't want them."

Maybe she was just too young to entertain the thought, he hoped it was so. "Shame, I was told they could look like me."

"Of course they would look like you. Who else would father my non-existent children?"

No matter the pain he had to reach for her and kiss her. Mercifully she did not try to pull away. "Sansa told me that you have grey eyes, dark brown hair and long face. I think that we look rather alike."

"Sansa talks too much."

"She also told me that I loved you more than anyone else." He carefully watched for her response.

"That was then." She did not sound sad, but he could feel her snuggling closer to him as if she was searching for a reassurance. It was one he could give her gladly.

"I still love you more than anyone else. Will you tell me something from that time too? I doubt Sansa knew everything."

He was surprised when she did not refuse him. "I guess we have time now."

"So?" they started in the same time. He smiled.

"So," Arya continued, "there was my mother, she hated you…"

 _Only you would start with this_ , Jon could not help to think as he tightened his around her pulling her warm form closer. Despite his throbbing head he felt as content as ever.

He must have drowsed again. When he woke up the sun was still high. Arya was cuddled to his left side sound asleep. He watched her resting form once again hating that he could not see her true face. He was making progress on the matter but many battles yet lay ahead of him. From the outside he could hear noise. Wind blowing, horses, dogs and men. There seemed to be too much noise for a common day in Harrenhal. Gently he took Arya's hand aside and was about to stand up, but her hand returned where it had been. He titled his face and saw that she had awoken and was watching him with her sharp eyes.

"Rest," she ordered in voice worth of seasoned septa.

"Something is happening outside," Jon protested.

"Trystane Martell has arrived with three lords, five ladies and seventy men at arms. They are just coming from their horses." Suddenly a recognizable sound of laughter could be heard from outside "And just now one of the guards slipped on mud and landed right on his ass." Arya commented.

"How could you know?" He could think of only one way, but even that would not help her now. "Nymeria is far away." The wolves were outside running through the field covered with snow led by a scent of rabbit.

"I have more than two pairs of eyes," Arya answered. He was puzzled for a moment, before she clarified, "Nymeria is not the only one whose skin I share. Ravens, cats and dogs, they all can be my eyes. Now can return to what we were doing before this Dornish invasion?"

Jon frowned. "We were sleeping."

She yawned. "Precisely."

By the time the evening progressed most of the castle seemed to decide that he had enough rest. Princess Shireen came to ask after his health with Myrcella Baratheon as her silent shadow. The next were tree maesters. Jon's, Sansa's and Willas's. All of them seemed pleased with Jon's progress. Last, after Arya brought him a light dinner, came Lady Olenna.

"Girl, leave us alone," she addressed Arya, but the girl did not move.

"Jeyne, please gave us a moment," Jon added his own voice and this time she did not hesitate. He kissed her gently before she left.

"You gave her too much liberties." Lady Olenna wrinkled her nose.

"I give you too much liberties, too."

Lady Olenna did not respond to that. "As he is still forbidden to leave his bed Willas tasked me with inquiry about your health."

"I feel considerably well," Jon answered honestly." How fares Willas himself?"

"Still grieving and blaming himself, but otherwise I bet that by tomorrow he will be happily hobbling around the castle. Which he should, as the council starts. Trystane Martell has arrived and as I expected, went straight to pursuing his formed betrothed. The boy is a fool, nevertheless he did not come alone. He took Rodrik Harlaw along the road."

Jon hadn't know and was equally surprised and pleased. He had met the man two years ago when he was trying to save his niece. Asha Greyjoy died in the end, but by that time a mutual respect formed between them. Jon did not invite the man, the Iron Islands were plagued by even more chaos that the rest of the Kingdom, if he had send a messenger he could hardly expect he would return, but he knew that now he could count old Harlaw to his favour.

"You seem as pleased as you should be," Lady Olenna commented, "the man made no secret of his support for you. I don't know if I should feel afraid or relived, as Lady Sansa sure did not look like she gave up her chase after you."

Jon frowned. His head was starting to throb again. Even Lady Olenna noticed something was wrong. "Rest, we will see each other tomorrow."

Yet he did not fell asleep after she left. He just lied in the old bed looking at the burning candles. Tybolt stopped by asking if he wanted to see a maester, but he declined. There was only one person whose presence he wished for, but Arya did not return.


	11. The Council

The noble occupants of Harrenhal held a feast in Small Hall, but Jon decided to sup with common men accompanied by Marw and Willow. The talk at the table was about the tourneys decades past and Willow joined from time to time adding a story about especially hard foes he had to beat in fighting pits of Flea Bottom. His favorite one was about a beast like man called the Bitter. Jon had heard the tale already at least twice. Instead adding what little he would be able to tell he ate silently wondering why Arya did not return while his eyes scanned the great hall. Today there was a notable unrest. Even here everyone knew that the great council will start within barely more than an hour.

Halfway through his meal Jon spotted five figures walking towards them between tables. The one leading them was clothed in expensive green velvet and helping himself with cane, the rest were men at arms armored and armed. All of them wearing new cloaks and the best steel gold could buy. "Willas," Jon greeted the Tyrell.

"Can I join?" the lord of the Highgarden asked. There was not much food left, but enough place at Jon's table to seat the whole company.

"Of course, how are you faring?" He still looked too pale to Jon and moved slowly even for a man dependent on a cane, but his spirits seemed higher than last time they had seen each other.

"As good as you seem, or as bad," Willas answered honestly.

Jon nodded. "I hope that is true, I am as good as healthy."

"Good to hear, today it starts." Willas sighed. _Only our own trifle,_ Jon thought but he agreed politely and noted for Tutty to bring the newcomers some food.

Surprisingly, not even Willas wanted to talk about upcoming council. They spoke about Highgarden and the Reach and Willas shared even bits about his childhood and youth. Happy memories, but well salted with grief and melancholy. The Lord of Highgarden had lost almost all his kin, Jon could understand the sorrow. He himself was told that boys he thought brothers died, so did his own mother and father long ago. He could not remember any of them, could not truly grieve them, but there had been Val. He remembered her warmth, her tears and feel of her killer's blood on his bare hands. Yet he could not share that, he never talked about it with anyone but Arya. Instead he offered a few stories about wildlings and his campaign in the North.

They were almost leaving when Jon recognized another familiar face. Unlike Willas, Brynden Tully was accompanied only by Lord Mallister and one knight. "The lords of Riverlands decided that because of the new truths about your origins, they won't be represented by you despite Robb Stark's will written upon false beliefs. They choose to give their support my great-niece, Lady Sansa." Tully informed Jon flatly barely bothering with courtesies beforehand.

Not for a moment Jon doubted his words. The lords of riverlands never supported him in truth. Most of them arrived only with Lady Sansa. "What about lords of the North?" he asked instead.

"They remain stubbornly stiff-necked in their support of you," the knight retorted.

"When did this decision take place?" asked Willas Tyrell who had been listening to the whole exchange with a displeased expression.

"With all respect, Lord Tyrell, this is a family matter. I do not intend to discuss further here and now." The Blackfish seemed barely friendlier towards Willas, Jon did not doubt that Sansa had shared her feelings about Tyrells with her great-uncle.

"Then maybe you should accompany me to my chamber," Jon told the Blackfish. The old knight did not have much choice but to agree. Jon stood and Willow and Marw followed. Neither Jon nor the Blackfish spoke till they reached Jon's chambers.

"Wine, Ser?" Jon asked once they were inside.

"No."

Jon poured himself a cup of well-watered wine. "Now I finally know how Lady Sansa spent the time she was not loyally embroidering handkerchiefs by my sickbed."

"Mind your words, boy, you wrong her." Brynden Tully did not seem to like him from the beginning, but Jon saw that for once he managed to truly anger him. He was angry himself, he had seen this coming from afar. He could respect the decision of the Riverlords, but he was very disappointed by the way Sansa handled it.

"Sansa Stark is the only living grandchild of my brother. Riverlands should be her undoubted birthright. Do you deny it?" the Blackfish asked him.

"No, I don't deny it, not even her abilities. Only her wisdom and her loyalty."

"How dare you! She cares for you much more than you deserve. She offered you her hand in marriage, but you barely miss a chance to shame her publicly by frolicking with your lover."

"Is the offer of marriage unmade, then?" Jon asked calmly.

"Despite my best efforts to convince my niece to give up this folly, no, she still wishes to wed you. But no matter who you do or don't marry, if you have any respect for the man who risked so much for you, you should send your kitchen girl away with the first lord leaving Harrenhal. Give her gold, some pretty dresses and jewels she would sell come first hard day, or find her a good man to marry, but make sure she is not carrying your child and leave her be before you harm anyone more than you already have."

For a moment Jon wondered what would have Eddard Stark thought of him if he knew the whole truth. _Would you be happier if I married your older daughter and made a political union she wants, or should I make an honest woman of the younger one I desire?_ Jon did not know the answer, but he would not betray Arya for anything.

"I am not married yet, Jeyne will stay," Jon answered in way which bore no argument. Blackfish's face flushed with anger and he left without another word.

The Great Council started with what little splendor these days could offer. The Small Hall was more crowded and decorated than Jon had ever seen it. It almost did not look half a ruin today. The floors had been scrubbed, old furniture dusted and repaired, broken windows exchanged. At the wall behind the table hung great tapestry depicting Westeros. It showed the coasts, mountains and rivers and even castles but not the borders made by men. That would only call for quarrels. At the other walls between the tall windows were put banners of the Houses which would hold the vote today. Should anyone see those banners ten or thirty years ago they would not be surprised by proud Lannister lion, Dorne's sun and spear or Tyrell golden rose. The other sigils though…

Instead of kraken the scythe of House Harlaw represented the Iron Islands and even though Princess Shireen did not keep her parents' faith in R'hllor, she kept her father's sigil. And so the burning heart stood for Baratheon crowned Stag. No sigils of houses Targaryen, Arryn, Tully or Stark were present in the room. Both Jon and Sansa displayed only their own personal sigils. White direwolf running through night black field for Jon and Sansa's heraldry of two blues in lozenge pattern of the field which were supposed to represent Arryn sky blue and darker blue of Trident in Tully sigil. In the front though, calmly sat a grey direwolf.

"My ladies, my lords, we should start," Jon opened the council when all were seated.

That day turned out to more tedious than sensational. At first they have to agree on how many votes would each representative have. Not all of them commanded the armies of the same size, ruled similarly large lands or as many smallfolk. It took way past the evening meal and many arguments till they reached an understanding. The Reach got the most voices - three, for the biggest army, big provisions and number of peasants ruled by them. Only two other regions got more than one voice, the Vale for the only lands and army untouched by war and Crownlands with remains of both Daenerys' and Aegon's army. Yet Jon got three voices when he added that of the North and Sansa got the voice for Riverlands too. Myrcella, Rodrik Harlaw, Shireen and Trystane Martell were given all only one voice.

"It should be ten voices to decide on the king," Rodrik Harlaw offered. "Enough to avoid another war, we should hope, but not too much for even the strongest candidate to hamper the vote."

"It is late, and we are all tired, but we should lay out the claims and take the first vote before we dissolve this council for today," Jon spoke finally. It was almost the hour of the bat.

Lords, princes, princesses and ladies on the table nodded, Rodrik Harlaw was the first of them to ask for word: "My good-brothers ruled through the right of conquest, but I did not conquer you. I forswear any claim for the Seven Kingdoms."

No one was surprised by the words, nor when Myrcella spoke as the next her voice quiet and frightful: "My mother's husband ruled the Seven Kingdoms for fifteen years by the right of conquest and all the great houses swore fealty to him, but my own parentage is held in question by honorable men. For that, for my personal wish and for…" her voice trembled, "… for atrocities committed by my close blood kin I forswear any claim of me or my future offspring for the Seven Kingdoms." When she finished speaking her look turned sullenly to the table. For a long time all looks in the room lingered on the young lady before turning to Trystane Martell and Shireen Baratheon. They held the weakest forces, yet neither wished to take the word next. Jon asked for the right to speak himself.

"No matter your belief of the reasons, I was named by Daenerys Targaryen as her heir. Robb Stark named me his heir as well and the Northern part of the kingdom still follows his wish. I have led men, fought wars and made truces. Better than anyone in this room I know the danger that threaten us all from the North and how to fight it. I lay forward my claim."

Jon saw how Lady Olenna nudged Willas under the table. He looked annoyed but seemed to agree with her, he spoke as the next one. "I do not doubt Jon's ability to lead and even less his ability to fight the Others, but the North is too far from Dorne and we all know which fight is his own. The king needs to be more than a warrior forever looking only at northern border of his Kingdom. I can be more. I lay forward my claim."

Jon assumed he would stand against Willas, but when Shireen asked for the word as the next he was less sure about her choice. "My uncle Robert Baratheon ruled the Seven Kingdoms for fifteen years and even if I loved Tommen and love Myrcella as my own blood, they are not his children. My father was the rightful heir and I am his. I lay forward my claim," she spoke with iron determination and in that moment Jon could almost hear Stannis Baratheon in her voice.

Lady Sansa took a sip of her wine. _She wants to speak as the last one,_ Jon thought. If Trystane Martell has the same intention he broke rather quickly. "Dorne can stand alone. My sister married a man who held half of the kingdom for a time and I myself have Targaryen blood, but I do not have forces to hold more than lands south the Marches. With heavy heart I forswear any claim for the Seven Kingdoms," the boy spoke his words spiced with distaste.

Sansa Stark calmly took another sip from her goblet before finally speaking. "Lords of Vale and Riverlands follow me. I have connections to both South and North. My armies are almost as big as those of Willas Tyrell, but I have more food. Yet I do not believe that my role is to rule the kingdom. I forswear any claim for the Seven Kingdoms."

"I think we should take the first vote now," Jon closed it.

No one answered but all shook their heads tiredly in agreement. Jon noted for Tybolt bring forward parchments and quills. All of them written names and put parchments blank page up before them. Jon read his first: "Jon Snow."

Willas had written and read his own name too. Sansa went as third on her parchment was only one line. "I will not give my voice today."

Jon was not much surprised. They agreed that whoever will vote for another candidate he or she will gave up his votes terminally and the chosen claimant will add them to his own voices for that moment on. Sansa would wait till the last moment, Jon knew. Shireen voted for herself too and Trystane did not vote. Jon sighed inwardly. He would need to convince at least one of them tomorrow. He would have to be patient, if he could convince one in one day it would be success.

The next came the Reader and with him the voting finally progressed as he gave his voice to Jon. _I have four voices now,_ Jon though, _six more and I can return North._

Myrcella looked almost relived when she finally turned her parchment and spoke. "I vote for Princess Shireen." The girl seemed to have no wish to be a part of realm's politics any longer that she had to.

Quills scratched as maesters recorded the final decision. Jon asked for the final word. "We will meet again tomorrow after dusk. That give us enough time to wave our intrigues, I think."

They all were standing up happy to finally retreat to their beds and their plots when Trystane Martell stopped them. "My lords and ladies, if you would be patient for a moment longer I have a declaration to make." The tired lords and ladies did not look too happy with that at all, still, they waited. Trystane turned to Myrcella: "My lady, I would like once again to ask for your hand."

"Trys, don't," Myrcella sobbed and fled. Though not quickly enough to hide her tears.

"Cella!" he called and run after her. Both of their guards following.

"Well, that was refreshing," Lady Olenna commented, amused.

"You are being rude, my lady. This is no laughing matter," Princess Shireen objected sternly.

"Rude, but true, my dear," Lady Olenna retorted, unconcerned. She was the first of the Tyrells to leave the room, but soon the all of their numerous reunited followed. Even Willas looked too spent to linger.

"I think we are all tired." Sansa Stark's voice was calm and pleasant when she walked to him on his own way out. "Would you join me in the godswood in the morning?" she asked of Jon.

"I will be there." He might be still angry at her, but that was only a reason more they should meet soon.

He was almost at door when Lord Rodrik caught him up too. "My lord, we did not have a time to talk."

"Regretfully, my time has become very limited now."

"I should have asked for your time before I gave you my voice, it seems." Jon knew very well that the Harlaw rarely wasted his words when they were unnecessary.

"No, you are right," Jon nodded tiredly. "I should find a time for a cup of wine to help us both with sleep."

Jon's chamber was cold dark and empty, candles burned out the hearth cold. No one have been there since morning. _Where are you Arya?_ Ghost was with Nymeria but of the girl there was no trace. He would know if something happened to her, but she was too far away for him to know more. He lit the candles and the heart himself and then called for Tybolt to fetch them wine. Patiently he waited for the Reader to go through the books on his table, only when the man did not find any interesting he spoke: "I do not blame you too much for not calling me to this council, I myself barely know who rules the Islands now, but it was unwise all the same. Not all men would follow me, but now no one can claim that we were not there when a new kingdom was being created. The history of the Ironborn is full of wars caused by one son or another being kept away while a decision was made."

 _And the Ironborn can cause a lot of trouble._ Euron Greyjoy showed that to all. "Then I should thank you all the more for coming and for your voice too."

Lord Rodrik shrugged. "I had only three choices. Shireen is young, and despite Myrcella's support she doesn't have enough power, if she ever becomes queen and marries anyone else but you or Willas Tyrell, the kingdom will fall apart. So in truth I actually had only two choices. I don't know Willas, but I know you. Or at least know you as much as you let any man to do. You are not an easy man to understand, maybe not even to like, but you know how to fight to the last man when all hope is lost and you also know how to go over one's own pride and surrender. It's always one or another of these ways and I trust you to choose the right one."


	12. Troubles with Trystane

Even without a lock of auburn hair escaped from the lady's cape he would have recognize the person praying in front of the Harrenhal's angry weirwood in that clear freezing morning.

"Lady Sansa," Jon called before coming closer. She startled and stood up. From the abruptness of her movement he knew she did not hear him approach. Truthfully, he sometimes wondered if Ghost's nature had rubbed on him. In a way Jon and the wolf were one.

"You are always so quiet. Where is Ghost?" She asked as if could sense his thoughts.

"In the forest." Once the wolf joined Nymeria Jon barely saw him in the castle anymore.

"He took Nymeria for a mate." There was no hint of question in her voice. Jon was surprised, he did not tell anyone. There has been tales of the monstrous she-wolf in the forest and men made a ribald jokes when they saw Jon's own wolf, but he doubted they knew the she-wolf was a true direwolf and, of course, no one seemed to suspect that she had a name.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"My wolf may be dead, but I am not so different from you. Not entirely. I know her song." Her glowed hand touched the pale face of the tree, with its scowling mouth and hard red eyes. "When I was little I preferred my mother's faith with its painted faces, pretty pious songs and bright crystals. But now… I haven't prayed in a sept since I left Kings Landing. And when I come to godswood… you will think me a fool, but it feels as if someone was trying to talk to me. Only I cannot understand the words no matter how much I try."

 _I can._ "Maybe it's just a longing creating voices where there are none." He could feel Brandon's disappointment at his words. _Let her be, Brandon,_ Jon thought. _She is not like the rest of us, she should not glimpse that world._ "You have a very strange way of gaining my support, even if I forget the way you arrived, I did not expect to have your vote, but I would hardly grow warmer to you with the way you took Riverlands behind my back," he told her, ignoring the accusing look of the ancient weirwood.

"The Riverlands were always mine in truth. It's not my fault you were busy with your lover while I was meeting the lords. As for my voice, I have my demands, you know them." She put a stray lock of hair back under her cape. "I would give you my loyalty when the time was right if you agreed with my proposal. You will not marry me, not if you have any chance to avoid it." She smiled lightly "I don't mean to give you such chance."

"Seems that Nymeria is not the only she-wolf on a prowl. Is that all why you had wished to meet me?" he commented dryly.

"No, I wanted to give you an advice. You need to win Shireen's voice." _Yes I do,_ Jon thought, _only I can hardly meet your and hers demands at once._

"Trystane is an easier target," he suggested.

Sansa nodded. "I have no doubt that lady Olenna has already saddled her horse for that battle, but Shireen is more important. Leave Trystane to me. Shireen does not trust me, it would be better if you approached her yourself."

"And Willas Tyrell?" he asked just out of curiosity.

"He believes in his claim, but he is no Stannis Baratheon, he won't fight past the bitter end. Are _you_ prepared to fight for your crown? Daenerys named you her heir, you should have claimed the throne easily enough, yet here we are voting and plotting." She sighed.

"I…" Noise of men approaching stopped his next words.

"My lord," It was Lugs. Despite his small statue Hagga had almost to run to keep up with his quick walk. "I beg pardon, but Princess Myrcella is missing."

The scene they found in The Tower of Dread looked strangely familiar to the night when Arya killed Meryn Trant. Same maid stood in the same hall crying. Lady Olenna was as quick to arrive as then. Princess Shireen was with her. "What happened this time?" The old lady asked.

A young man about twenty in Lannister colors answered: "Princess Myrcella went missing."

"I knew that, dolt," Lady Olenna complained, "I want to know more. Who are you in any case?"

"Ronad Marbrand, my lady, Ser Adam's nephew and squire. My uncle is not feeling well today. I took the command." Jon made a note to send his maester to the Marbrand later. It would need to be treated carefully if there were illness in the castle.

Olenna Redwyne snorted. "So, nephew and squire, what did happen here?"

He looked at her uncertain and only after a notable moment of helpless staring an idea came to him: "The maid should know."

All faces turned to the poor girl. "When did you see Princess Myrcella for the last time?" Jon asked.

"Yesterday when she returned from the council, she looked distraught, I am her bedmaid, but she only asked for a basin of fresh water and to be left alone. I was allowed to go sleep in my own bed, I don't know what happened after," the girl answered looking like she wished to be anywhere else but here with them.

"Who held the guard?" Sansa wanted to know, sounding fully the lady she was despite being of the age with the maid.

"Big Gill and Ser Mortymer. They sleep now."

"Show us their rooms if you would be so good," Jon demanded.

"I can do that," Ser Ronad offered.

"Very well, someone should look if any of Princess Myrcella's belongings are missing," Lady Olenna suggested.

"Someone should look if Trystane is still in the castle too," a quiet voice interfered. All of them stilled and turned. It was Princes Shireen.

It did not take so long to put all the pieces to place. Trystane Martell was indeed missing so were two of Myrcella's best horses and half of her belongings, most of Trystane's belongings were missing too. Jon, Blackfish and Lord Gargalen were already mounting their own horses when Willas caught up.

"Take me with you."

"With all respect, my lord, you will slow us down," Lord Gargalen objected.

"I assure you that I am just as quick on horse as any of you."

"I can attest he speaks truly," Jon supported him. "But you have newer injuries too, Willas."

"They are healed enough," Willas declared firmly.

"Very well," Blackfish added gruffly. "But be quick we need to leave as soon as possible."

Trystane and Myrcella could not have left before the dawn, Jon knew, since the first wight attack the gates had been closed and tightly held from dusk to dawn. _Hopefully they didn't go far._ Outside the castle Ghost joined them and Jon felt Nymeria watching from afar. Not for the first time that day he wondered where her mistress was.

Ghost caught the trail easily enough, but not even his smell should have been necessary. In the fresh fallen snow only two horse trails led from Harrenhal for any man with eyes to see.

They had to ride thirty miles though to catch a glimpse of the riders. Two figures riding quickly both concealed in heavy white cloaks. They stirred their horses when they heard them approaching.

"My prince, for the sake of Dorne stop!" Lord Gargalen called after his liege.

One of the riders only stirred his horse again, but the other was starting to slow down. Jon sent Ghost ahead of the slower horse. The animal reared, terrified, and despite the rider's effort, turned to the opposite direction. Jon caught its reins easily enough.

Once the rider turned, Jon saw that it was Princess Myrcella. "Trys, they caught me," she called and the prince stopped and turned his horse but he did not ride any closer to them.

"This was a great folly, Princess," Brynden Tully spoke, "what is worse, this was a folly which could have torn the kingdom apart."

"You have my voice in your voting what else do you need? My lands? My claim to the cursed Lannister heritage? I will give up all gladly but don't expect to give up my life just as easily," she answered angrily.

"We only wanted to know that you are alive and well," Willas assured her. "But if you wish to rearrange your situation and give up some of Lannister lands we all would only sleep better. It was not you who caused the real trouble though you willingly played your part in it."

Only at that Trystane rode closer. "I have done what I thought right."

"As many who had erred grievously before you, my prince," Lord Gargalen spoke gently.

"However small is your part in this council, even without it everything would fall apart," Jon reminded the young prince. "Dorne can stand alone, for a time, but are you sure that Seven Kingdoms can stand without Dorne in the times like these? And how long will your little kingdom last if we fall?"

"If my voice is all you want I will give it to you now, And I will give you support of Dorne if the time comes when it is needed to protect us all but I won't let you to meddle into meters concerning myself and my family. Which Princess Myrcella is part of now. I married her this morning, in front of septon Thelio, she is now my lady wife," Trystane Martell declared defiantly.

"Gods be good," Lord Gargalen cursed.

Willas Tyrell frowned and then suddenly he started to laugh. "My prince, you are a fool, you should have asked Jon. I'm sure that he would have told you how well secret marriages go, especially the ones started in Harrenhal. No matter, you should return with us before this folly will cost anyone his life. Those lands are not safe, there are outlaws and broken men, and in the night worse things."

In the end Prince Trystane agreed to return with them. They rode back to Harrenhal in sullen silence.

Lady Olenna was heard to be most unhappy about the news. Jon suspected that Sansa was just as displeased only better at hiding it. As a young widow she took it upon herself to lecture Princess Myrcella about married woman's life, as she phrased it. How much wisdom she gave the girl Jon did not know, but the next time he saw Princess Myrcella she was giving up most of her claims. Casterly Rock, Lannisport and most of her lands would be assigned to the crown. For herself she kept only the Westerling castle, a romantic ruin by the sea which stood abandoned since house Westerling's doom.

The second wedding of Myrcella and Trystane was held in the same day, the first one where most of the castle was concerned. For a rushed affair they were not happy about, Lady Sansa and Lady Olenna undid themselves. It was almost a wedding worth a king. Harrenhal's sept was a desolate ruin so they decorated the Small hall. To their solemn sigils Lady Olenna added cloth flowers artfully sewn from velvet and brocade. Lady Sansa came with tapestries depicting scenes about marriage and love. Jon suspected she brought them for herself. One of Dornish ladies gifted Myrcella with a dornish wedding gown. It was a beautiful, almost immodest piece of white silks, It had not had been made for winter though, so Jon asked among his own bannermen and lady Lyra gave the girl her best cloak of white bear fur. Lady Olenna done the girls hair in Southern style from her youth and Princess Shireen added a simple necklace of silver and pearls. The part of Myrcella's marred cheek was visible even under the light white veil, but Jon though that at the day of her wedding there was no prettier woman in the room.

Three septons lead the ceremony and all the high lords stood as witnesses. Jon ceded part of his supplies for the feast as did most of the other lords. Today even the least rat catcher would eat twice as well. Trystane's hands were only hesitantly leaving Myrcella after he had fastened his cloak around her shoulders and when he kissed her there was no duty or formality about it. Before the first dance, they took a vote. Trystane Martell was the only one to change his mind. He voted for Shireen. Jon didn't know if he did it to support Myrcella's wish or because Shireen was the only one who had not sent her men to hunt him down.

Myrcella and Trystane led the first dance, Sansa managed to snatch Justin Massey and Jon asked Shireen to grant him the honor and she agreed. "If you try to discuss politics I will step on your toes, this day is supposed to belong to Trystane and Myrcella." She warned him boldly before the music started.

Jon allowed himself to smile. "I only wanted to congratulate you to another vote."

"Then I should step on our toes with some force. You want to know what I will or won't do next, don't you?"

"Most of all I want to know how far you are prepared to go only to fulfil your father's wish. Your words yesterday were true. Robert was the king and Cersei's children were fathered by Jaime Lannister, your father was rightful heir of Robert Baratheon and you were his, but a lot had happened since then. Aegon came and then Daenerys and most of lords swore loyalty to one or another. You father refused and paid with his life but you were among those who knelt."

"I had no choice, I had to do it for the sake of my people. I could not hide in some remote part of the kingdom like you and Sansa. But I see no dragons here." That was true, Viserion had been slain even before reaching Westeros and the last time anyone saw Drogon and Rhaegal they were fighting above The Bay of Crabs. Even though they disappeared from the sight, fishermen further from the coast heard them falling into the sea. It was safe to assume that the dragons were gone.

"So, you won't back down?" Jon asked.

Shireen's voice trembled: "If my father lived he would have never forgave me if I had. He did not find it easy to love and people did not find it easy to love him, but he had been my father and once and I had been his little girl. It gives me a little solace to know that his grand children may still keep the crown."

"But for your children to rule you don't need to be the ruling queen. Just to marry the king, are you willing to change terms of your marriage proposal?"

"No. I am taking it back. Once I might have loved you, even now… You changed after they tried to kill you. How could you not? You lost your memory and spent a year alone in hunted ruins of Castle Black. But sometimes I feel like I see a glimpses of that man, more so in the last days. Maybe it's the girl you keep, maybe it's Lady Sansa being here. Still, I think that even if you haven't changed you would have never loved me and if I have to sell my soul I would demand the highest price." He wanted to ask what she meant by it all but the music died away and she slipped from his arms.

Another song was starting in sweet slow melody, Jon looked around for Sansa, he did not find her at her place, instead he glimpsed Rodrik Harlaw with a book and Lady Olenna with a goblet of wine. Only when he looked in a farthest corner away for festive did he get a glimpse of Lady Arryn talking quickly to Willas Tyrell. Though they had unfinished business Jon knew his cousin would not welcome his company at that moment. Instead he went to Lady Olenna.

"My lady, will you give me this dance."

"Your flattering should do with some refinement. Women in my years are not known for being good partners for dancing. I grant you the company is somehow limited, but there is plenty of ladies there who would remember that dance with a Targaryen prince for the rest of their lives. Maybe you should even sneak a dance with Jeyne once the honorable lords and ladies are drunk enough. Though, I did not see her for some time. Is she unwell or did you merely grow tired of her already?" the lady asked with false innocence.

 _I don't know where she is and I am worried sick._ "She caught cold. Nothing serious."

"Or so we should hope. How is lady Sansa faring with Myrcella's marriage?" she asked.

 _Better, now that we divided Lannister lands like murder of crows would do with dead rabbit_. "Well. What about you?"

"I won't deny that I wasn't happy to hear the news. I swore to myself that I won't let any offspring of Cersei Lannister breed, but when I was four which was sixty-six years ago, I learned that I won't get everything I want in my life, One of the most useful lessons I have ever got."

Jon wondered if he ever learned it himself. For a moment he imagined being married to Shireen. She might not be pretty, but she was wise, kind-hearted and strong. Yet he would never even entertain the idea of pursuing her when there was a smallest chance he could marry Arya.

Songs followed one after another but Jon did not participate. Willas was seated again at his place talking with Howland Reed and Sansa seemed to disappear. No one wished to speak to Jon and he sipped his wine in silence.

Soon they called for the bedding. By the time she was leaving the hall Myrcella was only in her smallclothes and Trystane was faring even worse. Many of the feasters followed them and once they left the hall went notably quieter. Suddenly Jon felt very tired. Tired and old. He stood up and went for his chamber.

He did not light a single candle though only embers remained in the hearth. In the darkness he took of his feast garnet and most of his knives and slipped under furs. He was half dreaming when he felt someone join him in his bed. Arya nuzzled her face against his neck and hugged him tightly from behind. Bolt of joy went through him.

"Arya," he breathed relived, but quickly he noticed that something was not right. Carefully he turned around so they were facing each other. She shivered could not see a thing in his dark chamber but he would have bet half of the kingdom that she had tears in her eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked.

More than three silent hours passed before she answered. "Have you ever heard about the Brotherhood without Banners and Lady Stoneheart?" she asked in a weak whisper.


	13. Alliances

Steam was rising from Harrenhal's large baths. The water was warm, the room around cold. Not as cold as outside of this castle, Jon reminded himself. His muscles ached pleasantly from the morning training. Next voting was much on his mind and so was Arya. Jon came from water and took fresh clothes. Marw and Willow were waiting on the door. Willow looked like he had made good use of ale they had served the day before.

Upon his return Jon found that Arya still in his chamber. His meal was prepared and she was reading a book by the window taking advantage of the day's first light. She put the tome down and smiled at him. She was very good at knowing his feeling, but that was to be expected he supposed, what was strange about them was that he could know hers too. He could tell she was still very distraught, but there was also strange calmness about her he had never felt before. Jon hugged her tightly and placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

"Aren't you hungry?" she muffled to his chest. He was even starting to like Jeyne's face, though than he remembered Nara and not for the first time regretted the things he did not know about his little cousin. He kissed her once more and seated himself to the food.

"Came with me to council today," Jon proposed when he was done eating.

"As your paramour?" She looked at him with visible doubt.

"As my cupbearer. No one pours wine and water as gracefully as you."

"You should see me mucking out the stables. Nevertheless, I will go. Jeyne needs to be seen again."

The horn sounded outside, a signal that Prince Trystane and Princess Myrcella were leaving. The young Martell did not wish to remain in Harrenhal a moment longer than he had to. He let it to lord Gargalen to remain for the rest of the Council in his stead.

"Do you want to watch? I know a good place but you will need your cloak," Jon warned.

Arya did not bother to answer but quickly hopped from the window sill dragged her cloak and hurried out of his chamber. Jon followed.

As they were passing his guards Arya gave Willow greeting in a horrible accent of Flea Bottom and the man smiled at her. She did not tell anything to Marw. It would not matter, Jon knew, the old knight would only frown at her. He kept quiet in front of Jon but he held no respect for a girl who would willingly become a paramour. Jon ordered his guards not to follow them. They won't be leaving the tower.

They went down one fly of stairs and turned to another hall. Jon unlocked a door, which only led to another hall. At the end of it where even smaller door made of solid iron locked and barred. The entrance to an old drawbridge. They entered and Jon took his arm around Arya sharing his heat. Standing in shadowed corner they watched the procession depart until the last rear guard disappeared from their sight. Even then neither of them spoke for some time both content with comfortable silence.

"We stood just like this once," Arya mused after some time. "It was when all went wrong. King Robert came to Winterfell to name my father his hand. I had run from my sewing lessons to watch the men fight and you were there watching too. The Hound, princes' Joffrey and Tommen, Bran and Robb all were there. Even Theon Greyjoy. I asked you why-"

"I am not down there," Jon could guess even not remembering a thing.

"You told me that bastards were not allowed to damage young princes, that in the yard their bruises must come from trueborn swords," Arya continued. Jon laughed, the irony was not lost to him. "You also told me that I should not hide. Or they would punish me and force me to sew for the rest of the winter and in spring they will find my body with needle frozen in my hand."

"That doesn't sound funny. Luckily, I can't imagine you ever holding a sewing needle."

She smiled at him, the sweetest and saddest smile he had ever seen. And then there was a slim blade in her left hand. Castle forged steel, he knew at first glance. "This is Needle." She let him take it to his hands.

The mark on it was familiar. Some swords they found in the ruins of Winterfell smithy bore the same marks. "This is from Winterfell. Did your Lord father give it to you?"

"No, my mother..." her voice caught up in her throat but she forced herself to finish, "my mother would never allow it. He found out only in Kings Landing but I never told him who gave it to me."

"Who gave it to you?" Jon asked though he was starting to have a strong suspicion.

"You. That is why I have kept it all this time. You are part of my life I could never give up. Maybe it is one of the reasons why I came here. If you didn't remember than everything was lost and I could leave my old life behind for true."

He wanted to tell her something so much. Maybe that he loved her, maybe that he would never give her up, but it would be a lie, he was the one who had forgotten. Yet he had to say something. The words come only slowly to his tongue and she put finger on his mouth before he could voice them. "Someone is coming."

Moments later the opening door revealed Willas Tyrell who shivered violently in the cold. He gave Arya a hard look.

"I think that we should return inside before any of us freezes to death," Jon offered. Wordlessly both of his companions heeded the suggestion.

"You killed Meryn Trant," Willas accused Arya as soon as they were inside.

"I did," she didn't deny it.

"Why? And why have you come here, why you are staying?" Willas asked her with a hard look on his usually mild face.

"A friend asked me for a favor, that is why I came, if I knew Meryn Trant would be here, I would come just to kill him. I meant to kill him for years. The main reason why I am staying is Jon. But do not worry, my lord, I do not mean to harm anyone else."

Willas was not satisfied with her answer at all. "I don't know what I find harder to believe that you are harmless now or that you claim to have friends."

"A condemned thief would be probably able to count my friends on one hand," she allowed, "but I have some nevertheless. And I am not harmless, but I am not a threat either."

"You tell so now, but what happens when someone else angers you or make a slight?"

"I will put aside my pride and deal with it," she answered, holding her ground.

"What about Lady Sansa? If you enjoy Jon's company so much what would happen when he marries and you will be put aside?" Wills didn't seem to believe her.

Arya laughed at that. "You are being stupid, my lord. I like Shireen and I would rather cut off both of my hands than to hurt Sansa." Even Jon was taken aback by the passion in her voice. "But no matter, I do not think you came to speak to me. With your leave." She gave them a half bow and left.

"Who is she truly?" Willas asked startled.

"If I told you, you wouldn't understand." Westeros knew nothing about Arya Stark. "You know, I think she was right that you did not come to talk to her."

"No. I didn't," Willas answered still looking at the direction in which Arya had left them.

Jon waited, but his companion still looked hesitant. "Do you trust me less because of Jeyne?" he asked.

"Yes, and not without a reason. I would like to keep your friendship though." Jon was glad to hear that. If he had to choose between Arya and Willas he knew that no matter the consequences he wouldn't even ponder long, but was more that happy that Lord of the Highgarden did not put him before that choice.

"As would I," Jon answered with relief.

Willas still looked troubled. "Maybe I myself hadn't been as honest with you as I should have been. I think that tomorrow can send us forever apart. And that would be greatest shame, not just for the kingdom."

Jon just shook his head appeasingly. "You want to tell me something, but you do not feel comfortable with it. Do you think that you know all my secrets?"

That made Willas smile. "Hardly, you don't know them yourself, Jon _Targaryen_."

Jon nodded. "I need to know all secrets of my enemies, but I hope I can trust my friends enough to allow them theirs."

Upon his return Jon was informed that a raven had arrived from the North. He knew he could not expect any good news even before reading the message and he was not wrong.

 _Others sighted near Last Heart_ , Hothar Umber reported, _one killed with dragonglass. Fifty men lost in the fortnight, wights growing more numerous._

Jon wrote the reply promptly and let it be sent. He was just opening an old tome about dragonglass, when someone knocked on his door. As always Arya did not wait for his answer. She was wearing dark grey dress, almost black and her hair was covered with a bonnet of same color.

"You are already dressed," Jon greeted her, "we still had some time." He could not return North before the council ended, though he could not keep from worrying either, Arya was the most welcome distraction.

"I came to help you dress." She told him. And she did, though it took a great amount of restraint for both of them to keep putting the clothes on instead of off. In the end they allowed themselves at least a log kiss.

Whatever thoughts pleasant or worrying lingered in his mind, they left him when he entered the Small Hall. The traces of yesterday feast were gone, he spotted only a small stain of wine on Tyrell sigil which someone had left yesterday.

Jon came early, but one member of the council was already seated. Today Sansa wore a light grey gown rimed with fur on neck and sleeves. "My lady," Jon greeted her.

"My lord," Sansa did not acknowledge Jeyne though she eyed her suspiciously. Arya only curtsied and took a place below wall reserved for servants, maesters, waiting ladies and other less noble folk.

"Why did that ill-named girl come?" Sansa hissed in quiet voice,"You are making a fool of yourself."

"Maybe, but a well-served fool. Aside from being my lover, Jeyne is my cupbearer." Jon shrugged. He was much more concerned about Arya returning to her life than what people thought about him. Nevertheless, this was once again going badly. "My lady, I do not think that we truly dislike each other but we have a great gift to turn all our conversations into arguments."

Sansa signed. "You have it true, but I do believe we could be allies. We have to be."

She meant it and Jon agreed, but he did not think they shared the same reasons. Whatever else she meant to tell him she kept for herself, because in that moment Tyrells entered the hall. Willas greeted them somehow solemnly but Lady Olenna looked smug.

In few short moment Princess Shireen arrived too accompanied by Massey, two maesters, two ladies and four guards. "I am sorry I am late," she apologized.

"Not at all, princess," Jon assured her, "the rest of us are early."

Willas Tyrell and Lady Olenna had chosen to wear dark green that day. But Shireen decided for a bright blue dress matching the color of her eyes. She looked almost pretty.

"Does anyone else wish to speak before we vote?" Jon asked. No one did and no one hesitated long which name to write. Jon voted for himself as did Willas, Sansa again showed only one straight line. It was Shireen who surprised everyone that evening.

 _Willas Tyrell_ were the words written by her hand. "My vote goes to Lord Willas, with this I am giving him my voice in council to do as he deems right. May my father's shade forgive me," she spoke quietly but firmly. _Willas now have six voices,_ Jon thought. The lord of Highgarden needed another four to become the king. Jon had just as many, one more voice than Sansa.

He could feel Sansa tense besides him, but it was Rodrik Harlaw who asked what they thought about: "Princess, I am getting old and old people are curious about the life of the young. What made you change your mind?"

Shireen looked at Willas in a silent question. "You will learn it anyway," she decided in the end.

"You will," Willas agreed. "Yesterday I offered Princess Shireen marriage and she agreed." Warm look passed between the two of them letting Jon wonder when it had all happened. Shireen had been right, he would never love her, with Willas she had hope. Even now Jon was more concerned what Willas might think about their meeting in the rookery, that that she agreed to marry another man. _Isn't it the same with all of us?_ he thought. _If we are damned, at least we should make our sins matter._

"Myrcella and Trystane might have given me their voices, but they were led by affection in no small part," Shireen spoke." Their lords though, especially lords of Westerlands will prefer a man for the ruler."

When no one else has anything to add, Jon dissolved the meeting. Willas and Shireen left first, the rest of Tyrells and Baratheons continued and Jon heard a fragment of talk between Lady Olenna and Rodrik Harlaw abut history of Highgarden. Soon after left the minor lords, maesters and then the bystanders in distant corners. In the end only Jon, Sansa and Arya reminded. But the younger Stark moved to darkest corner, a spot so carefully chosen that she became invisible to a common man, though Jon could find her easier than sun in cloudless day.

"We are losing sorely, but we can still have seven voices," Sansa declared in determined voice.

"Or Willas can have ten." More than ever Jon felt that he should return North.

"I'll do anything to stop that." The Lady of the Vale did not back an inch.

"Willas is a good man, but the matter of greater importance is that he has it in him to be a good king." Jon knew that being a good man and being a good ruler were rarely the same, yet his words did nothing to soften Sansa to the idea.

"Father, Mother, Robb, Bran, Rickon, Arya. What were their deaths worth if we bend our knees again? Willas might like you, but Robert Baratheon had been my father's best friend, it did not stop a boy who he brought up as his son to chop off his head! We will never be free if we won't rule ourselves. Don't you see?" she asked almost desperately. Jon reached for her hand, but she put it away and stood up. "Consider your next vote thoughtfully, Northmen gave you their support, but that may change, their hearts still yearn for an independent North." With that she walked away.

Once she was out of earshot Arya emerged from the shadows and sat at Sansa's former seat. She took Jon's right hand and gently massaged his painfully-clenched fingers. "I…" he was lost for words.

"I am sorry," she whispered. "You should not be alone and Sansa shouldn't be either."

"I am not alone, I have you. Does Sansa have anyone?" he found himself asking.

"She has our grand-uncle and she has her lover, but it's not the same as our family in Winterfell." The part about the lover surprised him. He never even considered such possibility. But then again, maybe he only wasn't paying attention. Sansa was not the Stark whose loves interested him the most.

"Don't look so surprised, Jon, you are not the center of the world for every girl who goes by, only I am so stupid." Arya bit his ear playfully and spun away from him. Jon had to laugh. She was almost gone before she turned. "You should end this council if you can," she added "It's time to return North, for you just as for me." Her words gave him hope, but he did not follow her. He needed to clear his mind.

Behind the heavy door of the small hall he could hear his guards talking their voices coming out in soft flow. His thoughts ran in a cyrcle while candles in the room were burning out one after another. The room grew almost entirely dark by the time he turned around to see the last of them. A small flame was shivering in a hall so big that its light did not even reach the walls. It looked as if the endless darkness surrounded it from all sides. Abruptly Jon decided he did not want to watch it go out. He stood up and left.

He did not seek his own chamber. Part of him desperately yearned for Arya but this was not time for them, he knew. Halfway through the castle his mind caught up with his legs. _Training yard._ He went to armory and took the first rusted training sword he came upon. It was a greatsword and though he usually preferred the bastard size, today he welcomed the added weight.

He swung it once and again, going through all the elementary moves. After he woke up in the abandoned ruins of Castle Black he did not remember any of the knights who had trained him or any of their lessons. But his body knew how to fight. There was no doubt that he had had training when he found out how quickly he took to training from Stannis' knights. He was able to best most any of them not two moons after joining the Baratheon king. No one needed to teach him again that not all wars are fought by sword, though. Not by best strategy, not by largest armies, not the wars in the past, not this one… In the night he sometimes could feel them. Not here, only wights traveled so far south yet, but in the north the Wall was crumbling slowly but surely and white cold shadows were finding slits in ice and poured south. _We must be prepared, or we will all perish._

"When I need to clear my mind I look at stars," a voice called from the night.

"Tiny blue lights far away, how are they of any help?" Jon objected. He stilled but did not put down his sword.

Willas shrugged. "Same as swinging an old training sword at non-existent opponents, I would guess."

"How did you find me?" Jon asked.

"Jeyne told me where you will go." Jon briefly wondered if there was ever time when Arya did not know him better than he himself. "Which is strange," Willas continued "considering how we get along and the fact that she claimed to Sansa that you did not tell her where you will be going."

"She wasn't actually lying to Sansa, I didn't tell her. I did not know it myself, when we parted."

"The more I know, the less I understand what is between you and Jeyne. Sometimes I feel that you must have known each other years rather than days, which is impossible. I know for sure that you do not remember a thing about your life before your own men almost managed to kill you. Have you ever asked her about that?"

"I do not wish to lie to you, Willas."

"So you are not going to answer my questions," Willas finished with a sight.

"How is Princess Shireen taking a prospect of her forthcoming marriage?" Jon blatantly changed the topic.

"We know and like each other well enough; she is hopeful about the union, but it was not an easy decision for her to give up her claim. Her father was the person she loved the most and he would disinherit her in an eye blink if he knew her choice. It gives her some solace that at least his grandchild will rule."

"She is sure you will win the voting."

"She and I both," Willas let him know.

"Someone told me not so long ago that Westeros will never follow a cripple. Nor would they celebrate a homely ill girl for a queen." Those were cruel words and Jon admired that Willas did not even blink. "Why Shireen and not Sansa? Sansa, despite not having claim herself would be easier for Westeros to accept."

"Though Princess Shireen has always been closer to my heart than your cousin, believe it or not I was keeping all my doors open at the beginning. But after two political marriages and twice as many betrothals you were the only one Sansa would allow herself to marry."

"You have six votes," Jon mussed, "I can have seven if I agree to marry Sansa."

"Yes," Willas allowed. "And even your four votes alone would be enough to stuck the voting. But it wouldn't matter if you had one voice or ten. Shireen's supports may mean the world for me, but the one person I need the most is you. It would be this way in either case, the South would rebel in the first hard day if you wouldn't have Southern lords firmly behind you. Whoever of us rules…"

"...the other must be his right hand."

"I never for a moment doubted you, Jon. If none of us would have been fit to lead the kingdom you would have found a way to become our leader, no matter the costs. And you would have done a good work, but I believe that the place where you are needed the most is the North. Yet that is not place for the king of this kingdom. Not even now. You will be always only a warrior trying to rule."

"Are there enough candles in your chamber?" Jon asked him remembering the little dying flame surrounded from all sides by approaching darkness.


	14. Drowned

"THUD."

"Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud."

Of all knockings that had ever interrupted Jon's sleeping this one seemed the loudest and most frantic. He looked around only to find out that he must had overslept. It was already light. But then again it had been morning by the time he had returned from Willas' solar. He did not even manage to come before Arya had left.

"There is woman. Wants talk to you now," he could hear Briar's stern voice.

Jon unbarred the door. The dark-haired woman who accompanied his guards could not be older than thirty. Cold morning air still clung to her thick clothing revealing that she had just returned from outside.

"M'lord, something horrible has happened. Jeyne…She went with others to fish upon the lake. But the ice was not strong enough. It slumped under her. She is dead," the woman gasped forth hurriedly.

 _That is not possible_. "Are you sure it was her?" Jon asked slowly. Arya had already started her day by the time he had returned, but that meant nothing.

"Yes m'lord. Folk from the kitchens knew Jeyne well." _No, it can't be, it must be some mistake._ She would not die like this. Instinctively he reached for the wolves. Ghost was with Nymeria but he could not feel what the she-wolf was feeling. He tried to reach Arya herself and found only a terrifying emptiness.

Five men and sixteen women from the kitchens and three men at arms had gone catching fish on the frozen lake that day departing at the dawn. Arya was among them. They walked from the shore about a quarter of a league and cut their holes there. Not an hour passed before Jeyne stumped upon thinned ice hidden under snow and it gave out under her. With a scream she disappeared under the surface. Six people saw clearly how it happened. Jon had already talked with the two who were sent to tell the tale. The rest remained on the lake to fish. No matter one death, Harrenhal needed to eat.

The news had spread fast through the castle. Almost everyone knew that Jon had taken the girl to his bed. As he walked corridors and halls servants and lordlings alike were giving him searching looks. _It does not make sense,_ Jon repeated to himself for a thousandth time. _Jeyne would scream, but not Arya, never._ When he banged the door on his chamber, it almost fell apart. He felt like a beast with a limb in hunter's trap, futilely trying to escape no matter the certain doom. _She can't be dead. She can't be dead, she can't be dead. Not like this._ It made no sense, Arya couldn't be dead.

Lady Olenna came to speak to him, but he refused to meet her. Sansa did not even try. Only for Willas did he open. "I will attend the meeting today and our deal still stands." He assured the Lord of the Highgarden in a lifeless voice.

"I knew you would. I came to ask if you are in a mood of a friend or wine. In years before his death Oberyn Martell had send me a rather remarkable collection of Dornish wines," Willas offered him a flagon.

Jon took it though he had no intention of drinking. "Thank you, but it will be wasted on me, I must warn you."

Willas shrugged. "On that we disagree, but suit yourself."

"You are a good friend, Willas."

"I hope so, you are in dire need of one. It is hard to believe she died this way, even for me. Are you sure there was no fool game at play?" Though he had harboured no warm feelings for Jeyne, Willas seemed truly sorry. In his own way he had been the only person aside of Jon who knew Arya at all.

"Who would be able to kill her that way, to make the ice break when needed?" Jon asked him.

"Maybe the people who taught her what she knew about killing."

 _The House of Black and White._ Jon knew where Arya learned her trade. "She swore she had no such debts to her past. I believe… believed her." Jon hated how little convincing his voice sounded.

"She could have been wrong," Willas objected gently. It was too much, Jon bolted through the door.

He found the castle's sacred grove empty. It was said about the Northmen that they are only folk to pray only in nice days. Maybe it was true. Dark clouds appeared out of nowhere sometime during the morning and what came down was not even snow but a freezing rain.

He knelt before the weirwood not paying mind to cold drops drenching him. _Jon_ , the leaves whispered. _Don't despair._

 _How can I not, Brandon?_

 _Arya, Arya, Arya_ , the tree rustled. It sounded angry.

Jon did not know what to ask. Maybe screaming was more what he had in mind.

"You are angry."

Jon recognized Howland's voice and turned to the crannogman hooded in a green cloak. "Why are you here?" He snapped curtly.

"I visit this place often," Howland answered seemingly unaffected by Jon's rudeness.

"Do you know what happened?" Jon didn't know if he would find a strength to tell the tale.

Howland looked at him without pity. There was something knowing in the man's eyes that reminded Jon of old weirwoods. "I do, do you?"

The answer both baffled and annoyed Jon. "What do you mean? A… Jeyne is dead." Howland knew the whole secret of Jeyne's identity, but Jon could not use her true name now. It would make it all too real.

Howland Reed sighted. "Yes, _Jeyne_ is dead. Do not despair, Jon." With that the man departed leaving Jon to his sorrows.

For a man missing most of his memories, Jon had too many of them. When Val was killed he stopped for neither food nor sleep for three whole days and nights until he hunted down her killer. Furious past the point of reason, he butchered all of man's companions before he dealt with the killer himself. He broke all bones he could reach on his body and then strangled the bastard with his bare hands. Jon did not feel better afterwards, but he never regretted it either. Even less once he learned that the man had been Ramsay Bolton, the very own bastard who married and tormented the girl who was supposed to be Arya Stark. Today Jon would have welcomed a reason to kill. But even if Willas was right and there was some fool game involved he would be hunting assassins no more catchable than shadows.

Jon left the Godswood only long after the sun went down drenched, cold and stiff. While he dressed for the council he could still feel Arya's smell lingering in the air. His burned hand smoothed the cover under which she lay only a few hours ago. _I should have at least returned from Willas sooner. We could have met for the one last time._ It was a blessing when the time came to leave the room.

The mood in the small hall tensed when he entered. Shireen and Rodrik Harlaw were speaking quietly. Lady Sansa was wearing black as was Lady Olenna. All of them were watching him carefully as if he was a snake prepared to attack in any moment. Jon spoke the opening speech solemnly and then gave them all the word. None took it. When maesters gave them parchment Jon did not hesitate which name to write. Willas showed his own name as the first, Sansa had drawn only one single line as three times already.

Jon turned his parchment as the last one. "I am giving my voice to Willas Tyrell and with this voting I forgo my right to the Seven Kingdoms."

Sansa looked at him bewildened, clearly shocked by his choice. "Dear cousin, you cannot mean it, your grief must have clouded your wits."

"I had decided yesterday, my lady," Jon told her flatly.

Sansa stood up abruptly. "I do not accept this voting; I fear my cousin was too deeply affected by grief, improper as his affections might have been. Tomorrow we shall vote again." With that she turned to the door and all her companions followed.

The whole hall buzzed like a wasp nest hit by a stick. Jon glimpsed concern on Rodrik's face; on the other hand Lady Olenna seemed amused. He waited till the hall quieted again. "I do not think we will need to vote again, but I wish to speak to Lady Sansa before this meeting becomes valid. With your leave, my lords and ladies."

Somehow the Wailing Tower seemed brighter than his own. With some difficulties in the end Sansa's guards allowed him to her chamber. Lady Arryn was not alone. She bid her great-uncle good night and let him in. On his leaving Blackfish gave Jon a hard look.

For the first time since she arrived Jon entered Sansa's chamber. It was twice the size of his own, with two hearts and blue curtains siding tall windows. The new carpets and furniture she must have brought with herself. The room was by no means lavish but it was still a sharp contrast to the austerity of his own quarters.

"I don't even know if we have anything to tell each other anymore, what made you commit this folly?" she asked him with hard look on her young face.

"My decision is far from folly. Willas told me something yesterday. The king belongs to King's Landing even in the times like these. I believe it too, but no one needs to tell me that I belong North. My war is there."

His words did not move her. "You could have been the king, you still can be the king. There needs to be someone in King's Landing once it's rebuilt, I do not disagree, but why not the Hand, why not a glorified steward? Tyrells have been stewards for hundreds of years."

"I would have done it as you said if I had no other choice, but there was another possibility." Jon had never imagined he would find an ally like Willas.

Sansa's mouth twisted, her face half pained half furious. "How long will this Tyrell kingdom last without North, Riverlands, and Vale?"

"Are you mad?!" Jon was terrified that someone holding so much power could be so blind to doom approaching. "Do you think that North alone can fight the Others? Do you know nothing, could you still believe that wights are only children's tales? This own castle was attacked by them not seven days past!"

Sansa put her hand on his arm. "This was your fight from the beginning, in the end they will follow you. You can protect us better than anyone."

"Only with Willas' help. I gave my word, my lady, I won't take it back. Willas have ten voices, he will be the king. You agreed with the rules when you came here."

She put her hand away. "I did. But are you sure North still stands behind you when you haggled off their freedom?"

"Gods damn Sansa, are you so selfish to sacrifice lives of thousands for your pride?"

"My pride?! I have no pride that goes deeper than a mummer's smile on my face. What highborn woman with any pride would be pursuing a man who openly prefers a scullion girl? I am doing it for my family. Being ruled from the South brought us nothing but grief."

Jon took a breath, if he expected her to make sacrifices he had to do the same. "What is your price for supporting Willas? Do you want to rule the North? I will give it to you whole. Do you want this dreadful castle? It's yours or it's mine, who cares? I will marry you and be an obedient husband, but I won't be your king and I won't be the one to rebuild King's Landing. My place is in the North."

Tears appeared in her blue eyes. She broke. "So is mine. To hell with King's Landing! I tell you something, I do not wish to have anything to do with whatever is South of the Vale, but they will never allow us to rule ourselves. We had to rule them. We could have built a new kingdom, ruling from the North and we were so close to succeeding. I wanted us to be safe and together in Winterfell."

His anger did not quiver entirely, but he took her in his arms. "There are not safe places in the world, last of all the North. It is only a child's dream, Sansa."

Jon stayed till she calmed down and then left her to her broken dreams. He had his own daemons he needed to deal with. He could not return to his empty chamber, however. The covers were still rustled where Arya had lied in them, the air perfumed by her smell. As the day before he found his way to training yard. He took the same old sword and swung it, starting his futile fight once again.


	15. Unexpected Arrival

_**AN: Thank you all for comments. I was surprised by the strong reactions to Jon not pursuing the throne. Taking away his memories changed Jon's personality, he is not so obsessed with honor and doing everything thinking what Ned would do, he is less personally connected to people around him and society in general, but I do not think he is unrecognizably different character. I guess I have to agree to disagree with some of you. Jon still feels that the Seven Kingdoms needs to be united to fight the Others and that this fight is his fight, but he does not feel about pursuing the throne personally just as strongly. Especially when there is someone whom Jon trusts to be able to fulfill this role. For all they know dragons are dead, if they agree upon the candidate there is no need for him to be a Targ. That is in large part what the council is about. From what I have seen on most of the discussion forums, most people think that Jon wouldn't want any throne especially the Iron Throne. I mostly agree with that, in some fanfic tales and prediction theories it would lead to Jon being reluctant but no less able king to whom the throne was handed by some divine set of events which left him as the only candidate. I have no big problem with that, but it's not the only way the tale can go. I made Willas came to a conclusion that he is the right candidate for the throne and he was prepared to do much more for it than Jon. If Jon wanted the throne that much he should have agreed to marry Shireen or Sansa at the beginning, but he did not wish to make that sacrifice or to be tied to South for the rest of his life, when Willas is able to do the job. Jon much more than anyone made Willas the king, and he done it only after Willas agreed with his terms, not to mention that the Lord of Highgarden is indebted to him. They have a complicated friendship/power balance, but no matter the outcome neither would be ever able to go against the other's will.**_

 _ **As for the Bran question: he won't physically appear in the fic, but he is always present in a way. Summer is dead and Jon believes Bran to be dead too, but the truth is… well it kind of depends on what you believe about warging, because Arya definitely wasn't warging that raven in the rookery and I would say that Bloodraven is gone too by this point.**_

* * *

It was dawn when Jon finally stopped and put down his training sword exhausted to death. His limbs seemed heavy as stones and he could barely walk, yet he feared he would not be able to fall asleep. He could not find it in himself to return to his chambers, instead he went straight to the bathhouse. Disrobed, Jon entered the warmest bath. The room was quiet and the water pleasantly hot. Despite what he had thought his eyes closed almost in an instant.

He woke confused, unable to figure out how much time has passed and what woke him.

"It is very dangerous to fell asleep in a hot bath," a girl whispered in his ear. He did not know her voice and she was standing behind him so he could not see her either. "Men should fear hot water more than they fear lizardlions."

"Who are you?" By her speech he could tell neither if she was a highborn or a smallfolk, nor from which part of the kingdom she came.

She walked slowly around the bath and sat at the edge of the tub. Her legs stretched and then she playfully held her feet just above the surface as if she could step on water and walk upon it. She was young, no older than fifteen and clad in a rich grey dress. Her dark hair reached barely past her shoulders and her face was pretty, but it was her eyes which made her strikingly beautiful. Large, framed by long eyelashes and grey so dark they seemed almost black. It had been some time since Jon looked into looking glass and saw a young scarred face and old grey eyes, but he could remember that much. Her eyes had the same color as his, they looked old too.

"Arya," he whispered revealing his deepest secret, though it seemed impossible, he would have felt her like the first time they have met. And every time afterward.

No answer came, but she slid to the water clothed as she was. One two, three steps it took in Harrenhal large baths for her to reach him. She sat beside him drenching her clothes even more. She hugged him not caring that he was naked and kissed him gently on right corner of his mouth. Jon could not resist deepening the kiss. Only then he could feel her, her love for him her sadness, her rage, all that was her.

"How?" He breathed puzzled once they parted.

"Making men believe that they saw Jeyne's death was easy, it took barely more than a mummer's trick. You were the hardest part, the bond between us is strong. Bran helped, despite his disagreement. You had to believe Jeyne was dead at least for a while, otherwise men would question it forever."

"Then you should not come back so soon," he told her, though part of him could never agree with his own words.

"Are you not angry I let you think I was dead?" she asked doubtful.

"I am not able to feel anything but relief that you are alive and joy that you finally stopped hiding behind glamors. Though you may stay hidden for some time, otherwise men might think you killed Jeyne." Jeyne might have been able to hide her nature but Arya would not be, not entirely. Men would whisper if the two of them got involved now.

"Who else killed her if not me? Men will whisper, I don't care. I am not innocent and I won't risk Sansa being blamed for it. I entered through the main gate. A third of the castle already heard that a highborn girl arrived at dawn, alone and unhurt. That won't go past notice. The hiding is done. Soon Sansa should be past her morning break. I will require meeting with her and I will inform her of our betrothal. It won't be a long one, I wish for Sansa to attend the wedding and I doubt she wants to linger here long."

He left the bath soon after Arya and noticed Marw giving him strange look. Lugs seemed unaffected as always. Neither asked anything thought Arya had passed them clad only in half of Jon's own clothing. Her own gown stayed in a wet pile at the bath's floor.

Jon was just in the middle of the long corridor leading from the baths when Damien appeared. "There is some news my lord. A girl arrived at the gates at the dawn. Alone, but she seems highborn."

"I know, I talked to her a moment ago." Jon omitted to mention more disreputable details of their reunion, though he was sure they wouldn't remain secret for long." The lady claimed to be a long lost kin."

"Another lost Targaryen?" Damien wanted to know.

"No, a lost Stark."

It was hour later and he was just talking with a castle blacksmith when Lady Sansa reached him. There was no trace of a broken woman she was upon their parting. She did not seem sad and lost now. If there was an emotion ruling her, without a doubt it was a fury. Her cheeks were flushed and her usually perfect hair rustled. From the breathing of her guards and ladies who followed her like little ducklings it was clear that she must have been running. Jon could only imagine that doing so in one of those refined gowns must be as easy and comfortable as running in full armor.

"My lady," he greeted her calmly.

"I knew the Wall did not change you for better, but you went way too far, stay away from my sister!" she warned him.

"So you agree that the lady is indeed Arya Stark as she claims?" Jon asked with some interest.

"Yes, she is undoubtedly my sister. And you should keep her honor and station in mind! It is not seemly for a young lady to be staying in a company of man alone, even if the man is blood relative. Especially with your father's history. And I am even trying to forget that it was in the baths of all places."

 _Never minds the time when we were alone and you kissed me_. Jon gathered all the patience he had.

"I don't deny that I find your sister pleasant to eyes, but my paramour died only a day ago and I still mourn her. My betrothal with Lady Arya is of political nature and I am content to respect her honor and wait with consummation of our union until the wedding."

She slapped him. "You bastard! What did you tell to her? Arya would have never agreed to a political marriage so quickly by her own choice."

"I offered her the left side of the bed, the right side of the North and assured her that I am passably good under sheets." He saw the second blow before it even began and caught her hand in time.

He couldn't help himself, he had to laugh. "My lady, I am sorry, but this is just too absurd. It is admirable that you try to protect your sister, but this is unnecessary. The marriage was proposed by Lady Arya herself, you have no lawful authority over her. She is your brother's true heir, not me or you. She knows that though it has never been her desire to marry now she must, to be the Lady of Winterfell. She simply needed a man, and of all men in this world she choose me."

"She choose the boy who died three years ago at the Wall, a better person than you. She doesn't know how much you changed," Sansa told him.

"It might be I have changed, I would not know, but haven't we all?"

For a girl who had claimed that she did not know how to live her own life, Arya threw herself into her new role of the Lady of Winterfell with surprising ease. Even more surprising was her sister's will to let her do so. Jon, Sansa and present Northern lords found a rare agreement and gave Arya one voice belonging to North. It was the first time Jon found himself truly believing in Sansa's supposed love for her family, she must have known what it would mean for the voting, yet she supported her sister.

When the time of the last council meeting came Arya was seated between Jon and Sansa. Jon caught many watching her with interest. She was a mystery which draw men like flame attracted moths, as if only her beauty and birth hadn't been enough to turn most of the faces.

It was Sansa who opened their meeting that day: "As all of you surely heard already, my sister, Lady Arya, long though dead had returned. We decided to honor her birthright. Since this moment she should represent the North. She will be given the voice which belonged to my cousin Jon and we will repeat our last voting."

And so they did. Willas voted for himself and Jon voted for Willas. Sansa chose once again only a straight line. Jon was saddened by it, but it would be too much to hope everything would go well. Arya went as last. He knew which name her parchment would bear. His own.

"My lady, Lord Jon choose to give his voice to Willas Tyrell." One of the maesters reminded her unnecessarily after she had read her choice.

"I am aware that he didn't change his yesterday's voting. I am content with it. This is only a gesture of loyalty." She looked at Sansa. "I know my sister is not happy with my decision, but I believe that our family will remain unified. I asked her to speak on my behalf on more joyful occasion."

Jon heart skipped and indeed Sansa looked straight at him. "I cannot give my voice to Willas Tyrell with honest heart, but I will respect the decision of this council. Despite our differences and my own marriage proposal, for the sake of our family and the sake of the North I also decided to give my blessing to marriage of my sister Lady Arya Stark and our cousin Jon Targaryen."

Jon felt as Arya took his hand. He could feel her smiling though he knew that her face remained emotionless. It took all his willpower to keep his own voice just as blank. "Lords and Ladies we have our king. The coronation will take place in this hall tomorrow at noon. Now we have an hour for refreshment and then the feast should start."

The noble company hurried out. Jon left as the last one with Sansa and Arya. When Arya stood up headed for the door Sansa followed and took her by hand. "Arya, will you let me help to dress you for the feast and wedding?" Jon could hear their voices.

"Only for the feast." By the sound of it Arya had something in mind for their wedding. _We are truly going to get wed,_ Jon mused. It seemed stranger than when they had told him that he was Rhaegar's son.

Tybolt stopped by in the matter of spoiled ale and Jon came late. Willas Tyrell and Shireen were sitting at the head of the table to honor their future roles of king and queen. To their left sat Lady Sansa with her great-uncle, to their right was Jon's own unoccupied seat and next to it sat Arya. Dressed in white she looked like a vision. Jon saw Olenna Tyrell turn to her and ask her something. Arya answered and the lady gave her a sharp look. Before Jon could reach them, Willas and Shireen were standing for the first dance. Lord Rodrick asked Lady Sansa and Galbart Glover turned to Arya, but the younger Stark shook her head. To Jon's surprise once the lord left it was Damien, his own man, who approached her. He was off duty, but not out of sight it would seem. Jon knew that the man would stop at few things when it came to women but never before he saw him chasing a lady as high born as Arya. He headed to them listening to fragments of their talk.

"... captain... Jon… shamefully missing… I am sure… mind. "

"… sorry my lord, but after… I lived without septa and I never learned … woman's skill. I do not dance."

"…have you been my lady? It is rare to meet someone so young and so cloaked in mystery."

"Damien," Jon greeted the man coldly when he finally reached the two. Damien was an useful man but Jon knew he was walking a thin line with him when it came to loyalty. Now that Arya was supposed to live with him the character of his men suddenly seemed to hold much more importance. _Before we travel to Winterfell I will need a new captain of guards._ In much more pleasant voice he turned to his cousin. "Will you give me this dance, my lady?"

"I fear I would make a target for laughter of both of us, but it would be rude to refuse you just after our betrothal," Arya answered with a mock seriousness.

"Yes, it would be," Jon agreed though both knew very well that that would never stop her from anything. Still she stood up and Jon let her to the center of the hall. She truly wasn't much of a dancer but she allowed Jon lead her. Till the end of the song they did not speak a word. It was their only dance that day, but for the rest if the evening Arya refused anyone else. Many had tried and even when it became clear she would not dance more lords and ladies continued to approach her one after another, trying to take a measure of the newcomer.

Only one person did not seem in hurry to speak with her - the future king himself. Jon was puzzled over it before well into night Willas approached him. "It's growing hot here, would you mind to accompany me for a breath of fresh air?" Jon nodded. Though many lords and ladies had made themselves happier with the help of ale and wine he could count too many focused looks turned their way.

"No one is listening," Jon answered Willas' unvoiced question once they reached a small corridor in one of the barely used upper floors.

Willas' face grew serious." With all I have seen since I arrived here it never even occurred to me, that I glimpsed only a surface of a bottomless sea when it came to you and your women. At first I thought that it was only a happy chance occurrence that Lady Arya appeared out of nowhere just in time to solve our troubles with her sister, but then I saw you two together." Jon remained silent but of course Willas continued: "Once I asked you who Jeyne was, you didn't answer, but now I know. The name she was given at birth is no less than Arya Stark and the men who taught what she knows were no less than the Faceless Men of Braavos."

Jon's face remained blank, but he forced his voice out. "If most men knew what you do, they would believe that the girl I am about to wed is an assassin wearing my dead cousin's face."

"Don't worry, they will likely never suspect, not even her sister, it would seem."

"Why are you so sure the girl is truly Arya?"

Willas smiled, though it seemed tired. "I will have to get it out of you piece by piece, won't I? I hope she knows, how loyal a husband she is getting. I always thought that you and Jeyne must have known each other, but mostly it's because of the wolves. The she-wolf in the woods belongs to her. Wargs are no more children's tale than Others, it would seem."

"Yes, we are just as real."

Despite his suspicion Willas seemed shaken by Jon's open confirmation. "We will need to talk about that before you depart. But they should start to miss us at the feast soon. Before we return I wanted to inform you that my grandmother, Blackfish and Lord Rodrik all agreed to share govern of Harrenhal. Tomorrow from the moment of my coronation it should pass to crown."

Jon nodded, he was glad to be free of his ties in the South, "If that is all, we should return," he spoke, but then he noticed that Willas spotted an expression that Jon had learned to read as hesitance to talk about something that might test their friendship. "If you had anything else you want to talk about, now is the best time, I am not even armed." Jon encouraged him.

Willas grimaced at the jape, but in the end he did ask with almost innocent disbelief. "I know this is not the matter of the kingdom, but were you truly bedding the girl while you still thought her to be your own sister?"


	16. Ceremonies

_**AN: I had to say that in one of the very early versions Damien had a larger role, but I cut it off. He is a very able man but not trustworthy and Jon knows hat. His part is mainly to show that similarly as at the Wall Jon is prepared to make use of him but it's all or nothing kind of gamble and while Jon is prepared to play that with his own life once he decides to settle down with Arya, he is, even not remembering a thing, more inclined to put a higher value on loyalty like Ned did with his men.**_

* * *

Willas' coronation seemed tediously long. At this point Jon did not even pay attention to the words septons were reciting. There were three of them, one Willas offered himself, one came from Riverlands and one had belonged to Aegon before the man's death. For the North where they did not keep the Faith Lady Stark was supposed give the blessing of the Old Gods. Jon glanced at Arya, more for the joy of seeing her real face than to read her feelings. In the moments like these her mask was flawless. He could feel her mood though. There was a faint nervousness and excitement; he guessed it has nothing to do with this ceremony. In two hours they were to be wed.

Finally the last septon spoke and Arya was called forward. To his surprise Sansa had dressed her in delicate gown with long-sleeves and color of chicory. There were flowers masterfully wrought from silver in her hair. Idly he wondered how real flowers would look in her dark locks. _I will never see it_ , the winter has come and they were not likely to see the spring.

"You seemed lost in thoughts." Arya was there again holding his hand. But he had no time to answer.

"Kneel before King Willas, the first of his name, the king of the Seven Kingdoms and the Lord Protector of the realm!" the septon called. And Jon knelt. He felt many eyes on him. He could have been a king, but he did not feel like he had made a mistake. He was the last one to stand up.

"So do you think Willas will betroth his heir to our child or to a Martell," Arya asked lightly as they were walking to the tables surrounded by the other attendants of the ceremony. Jon looked at her startled and she laughed. "It was only a jest, Jon."

"Then your humor must have become rustier than knight's armor in swamps, I do not find it funny at all," he grumbled.

She smacked his arm in full force and it was his turn to laugh. Lords around were turning. Sansa was watching them with a strange look. Shireen who stood nearby also turned to them briefly. The future queen gave them a friendly smile.

"You know, when you mentioned the betrothal, you were not the first one." Jon turned back to Arya.

She sighed. "Sometimes I forget how long I was away. Secrets, plays, intrigues that is much the same in Braavos, but not this nonsense with planning the future for the children not yet born."

"We didn't talk about children when we agreed on marriage." Their only talk on the matter occured before she decided reclaim her identity.

She bit her lip and Jon had the fight the urge to kiss her.

"We can wait," he assured her. _We don't have to try at all,_ he wanted to tell her, but that was not true _. There always must be a Stark at Winterfell._ She took his hand and led him away from a steward who entered after them. They walked through a narrow corridor and slipped outside. It was snowing again though the wind had almost died out. He put his arms around her to warm her up; they were not dressed properly for this weather. She rested her head on his chest and he kissed the crown of her head feeling the snowflakes which had settled there.

"I told you I had never thought about children, but I did after we talked. The truth is that I am scared." It seemed to cost her all her strength to say the words. Jon knew she was not afraid of losing her life in childbed, probably not even losing her freedom. It was something else.

"If you love anyone, there always will be fear too. If you have something you care about you are afraid of losing it."

"My mother thought she lost all her children and it broke her." Arya had told him about the Brotherhood and Lady Stoneheart. Even if the men from the Brotherhood dissolved and went their ways and Lady Catelyn Stark finally found her rest, it was a tale as dark as any reports from the Wall. All the more for Arya, who fit in the middle of it all. But Jon knew for sure that she was stronger than that.

"Your mother gave up her hope too easily, you were alive, Sansa too. Even Rickon and Bran at that time."

"What if we have children and lose them?"

"We will grieve and we will live." Jon remembered Val's tears the day they decided to travel south, he remembered how she let him feel the moving child and how pregnant she looked when he was burning her body. "I would let them cut my hands off and blind me if I could give you certainty that it won't happen... "

"...but you can't. I know."

He kissed her nose. It was cold. "We should go inside."

"Not yet."

"Not yet?"

"No," she shook her head and he was pleased to notice that her mood became much less somber, "a snowflake melted on your lips a moment ago and it annoys me."

"Annoy-" she interrupted him with a kiss.

The feast had begun without them. Sansa gifted them with a disapproving look, but the new king himself did not seem offended.

"I feel sorry for your wedding being so rushed," Princess Shireen spoke to Arya when they were seated. Stannis' daughter was dressed in rich green velvet; despite her marred face in that moment to Jon she looked like the true queen.

"Thank you for your concern, princess, but neither I nor Jon are too attached to long ceremonies," Arya answered politely. New Lady Stark had been deadly serious when she spoke about short betrothal. Sansa meant to leave on the morrow and that left only one day for the ceremony.

"If you lack the taste for long tedious speched I must congratulate you for not falling asleep during the coronation and I am telling you that as the one most happy about it." Lady Olenna interfered and took a heaty sip from her wine. The food was served, but Arya had left after only one course, together with Sansa and Princess Shireen. Soon even Jon stood up.

In his chamber he dressed himself in a rich black doublet, getting slowly lost in thoughts. From the Great Hall music could be heard when he was nearing one of the narrow windows it seemed to him that the world appeared somehow too bright. He hurried to the yard. Above Harrenhal shone a small piece blue sky, surrounded in all sides by heavy clouds.

The sacred grove was as crowded as Jon had ever seen it. Though their wedding was not a great affair, more a mere interruption to coronation ceremony, there were already more than thirty people waiting. Mostly northern lords and some of Sansa's companions. Tyrells came together with Shireen.

"You must teach me how you can make a snow storm go away," Lady Olenna greeted him frowning at the piece of clear sky.

Lady Sansa arrived with her great-uncle and the Reader. Jon half expected her to come dressed as a Northwoman, but she had not changed her garb from the coronation. Lady Arryn decided to represent the Vale in everything from cut of her gown to her hair. They waited in silence for the last two to arrive. If Jon was surprised by Sansa's dress he was much more surprised by Arya's. She came clad in a black in gown of Essosi fashion that reminded him a little of Nara. Her hair was tucked under a net decorated with black pearls. Even her cloak was black. The color gave Jon a queer sense of closeness. Even if he was no longer a man of the Night's Watch, he mostly dressed in black. _This one belongs to me,_ he thought.

"Who comes before the gods?" Jon asked formally.

"Arya of house Stark comes to be wed," Howland Reed answered, "a woman grown and flowered, she comes to beg the blessing of the gods. Who comes to claim her?"

"I, Jon Snow of houses Targaryen and Stark and the Hand of the King. Who gives her?"

"Howland of House Reed, lord of Greywater Watch, elder of Order of the Green Men and confidant of Eddard Stark." The crannogman turned to Arya. "My lady, will you take this man?"

"I will take this man," she answered. Almost out of the earshot Jon could hear wolves howling, he felt like howling too.

Together they knelt before the heart tree. Jon sensed that Brandon watching. _I will try to take care of her, do the same,_ he prayed.

Many of the feasting did not even notice their return to the great Hall. Some ballad about Jonquil and Florian was in its middle, when it ended Jon asked his new wife for a dance. "I can't believe that we are married," he told Arya as he led her to the music.

"Unconsummated marriage is like an unsigned contract," she reminded him with mocking seriousness.

He drew her closer. "Very soon." He could feel her heartbeat quicken at his words. The dance was drawing way too long.

"Do you think they know that Northmen don't have beddings?" she asked him.

"I don't mean to stay long enough to find out."

Before the following song ended they were rushing to her chambers, avoiding everyone like thieves. Once inside Jon barred the door and Arya started lighting the candles from heart. It was the first time he had seen her quarters. She had lived with him as Jeyne for almost a fortnight but Arya Stark had been in the castle for less than two days.

Her chamber was small and almost bare. There was a heart with ambers still burning, her bed was wide, but crudely made and covered with a messy pile of covers and furs, the most luxurious item in the room was an old oak chest and a pair of velvet curtains which went oddly with the rest of the room and a narrow window barely wider than an arrow slit.

"This looks more like a servant's cell than chamber of high lady," Jon couldn't help but comment.

"It is barely smaller and starker then yours," Arya objected, unpinned her hair and put the silver net on the top of the oak chest. Jon's hands itched to feel her locks between his fingers.

"There you are horridly wrong, I have a table too. And I would think that you would choose a chamber with more than one way out. I don't think even you would be able to go through that window."

She grinned. "If you feel like it you may have a very close look at the privy."

He wrinkled his nose and she laughed and sat on her bed. She started to unlace her shoes. Jon watched her with great interest and got rid of his doublet. Unceremoniously he threw it on the floor.

Once Arya's shoes ended under up her bed she stood again and started to undo the laces on her back. She seemed unconcerned that she did not see them, nevertheless, Jon came to her. "Let me." She stilled and led her hands fall to her sides.

Knot after knot he slowly unlaced the upper part of the dress and the back of the skirt and let the heavy fabric fall on the floor. His right hand traveled alongside her back now covered only in thin shift and then under the waist of her underskirt and smallclothes. He caressed her backside and then his hand moved forward to her hips and between her tights. His left hand wandered between her breasts and his mouth found the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck.

"Jon," she protested faintly.

He smiled into her skin, took his hands away and walked two steps back. It cost him all his willpower not to grin when in the first moment she had sighed in frustration and leaned back to prolong the contact. He returned to her and helped her out of the shift. She turned around as soon as he was done and he got a wonderful look at her breasts. When his eyes finally traveled back to her face she nodded for him to put his hands up and took away his shirt and undershirt in one move. Looking at him she frowned. She came closer and her icy small fingers traced the ugly scar on his belly. "I don't like this one."

Since the moment he woke he had been obsessed with his burned hand. He had many more scars but he never thought much about this one. And as Arya stood before him letting him wonder how appealing her pink nipples looked from this angle, he could not find it in himself to care much.

"I think it is from the time my men attacked me," Jon answered absentmindedly.

She nodded thoughtfully her hand lingering on his scarred flesh. "This one could have killed you."

"A bee bite could have killed me. That is life, little one."

"You should not call me little one when we are about to fuck." She shook her head.

He caressed her face. "I used you call you little sister, didn't I?" He remembered how those words affected her that first night they had met." I don't think I can do that now."

Their looks froze pointed at each other and he marveled again how strikingly beautiful she was and how someone could appear so young and so old at the same time. "I liked being your sister and I like being your lover, I would like even being both. I will love you no matter what you will call me, even little one in time." She answered him.

"Someone else called you that," it occurred to him. "Who was he?" They never truly talked about her men in Braavos, though Jon knew there had to be some.

" _She_ was Bellegere Otherys. I told you some about her, but not all. I had been stupid and I broke her heart. All people have their weaknesses. She had never loved any man, but she loved me."

He could not even find it strange that one of her lovers had been a woman. "Love isn't only a weakness, it could be a strength too."

She looked uncertain. "I so hope you are right."

He embraced her putting their flushed bodies together. Her breathing was ragged and her heart beat like mad. Or maybe that was his own heart. He held her for long time feeling both fondness and desire.

"Any dock whore worth her money would have done her job twice in the time that passed since we entered this chamber," Arya breathed when she couldn't stand it any longer.

Jon laughed and put his hands on the hem of her underskirt but she fled him when he tried to take it down. "You are the one wearing too many garments, not me," she smiled wickedly.

"And you are the one who should right this wrong."

She nodded, face serious as a little girl being reprimanded by her septa and knelt before him. With his help she put down his boots one after another. Without looking at his face she undid laces on his breeches. He sighed in relief, but then she titled her head and kissed him trough his smallclothes.

"Arya, not now," he gasped and closed his eyes. She only touched him lightly and then was already straightening to her full height, but it had been almost too much. He found the gesture more provoking than if she simply took him in her mouth. His eyes were still closed when she kissed him on the lips.

"Arya," he murmured. Their fingers intertwined, their eyes met, grey staring at grey and he returned the kiss readily. He didn't even notice how they ended on the bed kissing and tearing off the rest of their clothes. She stilled slightly when he first entered her, but then she was clasping her legs around him, her hands were roaming his back almost desperately and his only thought was to make her moan his name again.

* * *

 ** _AN2: We are almost at the end. There is one shorter chapter left. It is a little epilogue like, though it takes place the following day. There are some parts of it I personally like and I hope you will too._ **


	17. Farewell

Huddled under covers in their bed Jon was trying to read in what weak light Arya's window offered. The girl herself was curled against him, her head leaning on his chest. He could feel her warmth where their naked skin touched under blankets and furs. _My wife,_ he thought and wondered if he will ever get used to the feeling. Arya was hardly made to be someone's wife, but he was not a husband any maid should wish for either. _We were made for each other,_ he decided. He returned to the letter looking at the rest of the message.

 _...My lord husband is troubled by a mild chill. We should remain in Stoney Sept for few days before continuing on our journey._

 _By the grace of the gods old and new, written in the hand of Myrcella Martell._

"Myrcella writes that Trystane caught a chill. Do you think it could be serious?" Jon asked a little troubled. Of the whole of Westeros Dorne was always the last one to join. Should Trystane Martell die before he got an heir on his new bride, his successor may reconsider prince's decisions to support Willas.

Arya furrowed her brow. She took her hand from under the covers and snatched the letter from him. The movement caused their cover to fall revealing better part of her left breast to his view. Jon's gaze lingered on the sweet spot till she covered herself again. He was sure she noticed.

"She is lying. He is not ill at all. I don't know why they are staying, though," Arya spoke with certainty.

Jon willed his lustful mind to focus. "How can you tell just from words?" He was used to the fact that Arya could hear a lie in a voice and see it on man's face, but a letter must have been a different matter, surely.

Arya brushed her thumb over the signature. "Myrcella wrote the letter herself, hand can shake same as voice."

"We will learn truth in time, I suppose. Not all lies are matter of importance. I have some trust in Myrcella. Same could not be told about Trystane." Jon sighed.

Arya put the letter aside. "Myrcella is..." she hesitated searching for a right word, "…innocent. How could she be after everything? Everyone else had to change to survive, even Sansa. When we were children she was a perfect little lady, always quick to please, a perfect daughter and a girl with head full of songs of knights and love."

"She remained that girl in a way. She wants to return to the castle of her childhood, which is always warm and safe."

"Winterfell is still warm!" Arya protested fiercely.

Jon nuzzled his nose in her hair shaking his head." I swear to any gods that ever were and ever will be that you are impossible. I did not mean the temperature."

"I know, but it is still warm."

"Winterfell, the greatest castle of the North, the seat of the Starks since the Dawn Age. Located in the center of the North on the Kingsroad, southeast of the Wolfswood, southwest of Long Lake and north of the White Knife. A huge castle complex build around an ancient godswood and over natural hot springs, which waters still flow through its walls warming them," Jon recited maester Kennet. "Well, now the water flows through its ruins, but most of the godswood is still there, at least."

Arya turned her head up and looked at him. Her eyes seemed unfocused, lost in thought. _She is remembering the castle I will never know._ He had been to Winterfell, but he could not remember it from the times before wars and betrayals made a smoking corpse out of it. _My life is only winter._ He wondered if it is for the best or the worst.

"It will be hard at first, we would need to rebuild the castle," he told his little wife.

"It will be always hard," Arya corrected him. "But we will manage, Starks always did. I do not mean to be the one to fail. Shireen told me than I am a better and stronger person than I think" she told him thoughtfully. "I know I am strong. I was never especially humble to deny it. But I do not think I am a good person. For a long time I did not care at all. It was only stay alive and kill. The one thing you never look at when you are wearing different faces is a looking glass."

He kissed her gently. "Past can never disappear, not yours not even mine, though I may never recall it, the future is the more important part of life."

"You make new memories to remember with each passing day." She stroked his cheek.

"I made some very special ones last night." Jon ginned. His hand caressed her bare thigh though he did not follow the urge further.

Arya leaned more against him a closed her eyes lazily. "I like when we fuck too." Corner of her lips twitched in a smile. Jon titled his head so he could see her face better. _No matter what,_ he vowed, _this one girl is mine and I will take care of her._ He knew she hardly would let anyone else anyway. They stayed silent for a long time.

"Shireen likes you," he spoke in the end. Arya opened her eyes again. Jon loved being able to see their true color.

"A little," his wife allowed. "I don't think Willas ever will, but we made our peace. Besides, I don't care, I have you."

"And Sansa," he added. Sansa was his kin too, but she did not feel the connection to her. He had no doubt that Arya loved her sister fiercely though, despite their differences. "You should give your farewells to her, she is almost leaving."

"I know," Arya sounded sad for a moment but then she wrinkled her nose, "and it seems that I will get a chance sooner than I though." Soon he could hear the approaching steps too. Jon could hear faint voices of his guards and in no time the very same lady stood before their chamber.

"You can enter," Arya called loudly before her sister have even time to knock.

"I thought you two were dressed," Sansa startled when she entered. She wore a simple riding dress, already prepared for her journey.

"We may not be dressed but we are covered. All men are naked under their clothes, we are just naked under the furs," Arya offered lightly.

Jon could almost see flames flaring from Lady Arryn's nose. "I can come later or we can meet in the yard, it is still almost an hour until my departure."

"No, don't leave!" Arya pleaded urgently and jumped for the bed quickly searching for nearest clothes.

Sansa watched the scene with a firm set frown. "I also wished to give you mine wedding gifts as you fled your own wedding feast early."

"Was anyone offended by it?" Jon asked.

"Only me. Most of the company had a good laugh at it once they found out. You will spend the rest of your time here hearing bawdy jokes, I would wager." Sansa warmed them while Arya unceremoniously bent and snatched his shirt from under their bed. It was way too big for her, but there was something very alluring about her wearing his clothes. Jon watched her for a moment battling with laces before he noticed Sansa's gaze from across the room. She seemed pondering something but in that moment Arya deemed herself dressed enough to head to her sister and hug her fiercely. Sansa returned the sentiment wholeheartedly. There was not a hint of the cold young lady who had greeted him upon her arrival.

"This is a much better farewell than the last one," she whispered visibly moved.

"It is," Arya agreed. Jon could hear emotion in his wife's voice and there were actually tears in Sansa's eyes. He saw that Arya whispered something to Sansa which made her sniffle. When they finally pulled apart Sansa looked as disheveled as Jon had ever seen her with her tousled hair, red eyes and pink cheeks. Even Arya, though more in control, seemed melancholy.

"I have to go or my men will go searching for me," Sansa spoke when she regained bit of her composure, but despite her own words, she didn't leave immediately. Jon straightened, wondering if he should hug her too.

"Don't stand up," Sansa stopped him quickly and blushed. Instead she walked to the bed and bend to kiss him on the cheek. "I am still not happy about your decision regarding Willas, but you should know that if there was ever doubt you belonged to our family, it no longer exists."

When the door finally closed he stood up from the bed, naked as he was and came to Arya. He hugged her tightly and she trembled in his arms. "Come, get dressed, we still have almost an hour to annoy your sister to tears," he told her.

Arya smiled, but her eyes were wet. A long winter was ahead of them and even if they were prepared for the fight, many farewells were likely to become the last ones.


End file.
